


Teaching Qrow

by BryonNightshade



Category: RWBY
Genre: Bad Puns, Gen, Good Parent Taiyang Xiao Long, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Prequel, Qrow Branwen-centric, Ruby and Qrow are weapon nerds, Thanks Tai
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28375233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BryonNightshade/pseuds/BryonNightshade
Summary: The new instructor candidate for Signal Combat School is a problem. Not his credentials, which are impeccable, nor his resume, which is pristine. No, the problem is that the candidate is Qrow Branwen and his wagon trains of baggage.But Signal needs someone to fill the slot, and anyone who can survive Qrow as an instructor can handle whatever the grimm throw at them, right?It was a nice thought.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen & Ruby Rose, Qrow Branwen & Taiyang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen & Yang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen/alcohol
Comments: 37
Kudos: 54





	1. Coming Home to Roost

**Author's Note:**

> This story is designed to be canon-plausible: it depicts outside-canon events, but complies with canon as much as possible. I will update every other Sunday until completion.
> 
> Credit for the idea goes to Akisawana. Certain STRQ backstory elements are borrowed from KesonaFryen's outstanding "Follow the Beacon".

"Turn that light off," came the sleep-slurred grumble.

"It's called the sun, Qrow."

"So?"

"I can't turn off the sun."

"Curtains exist, right? Use some."

"Maybe I'll put some up the next time I renovate."

"You're a dirty liar."

"Hey, the _early bird_ gets the worm, right?"

"You make me want to change my name, Tai."

Taiyang Xiao Long looked down at Qrow Branwen, who was lying sprawled on Taiyang's couch, and who was trying to cover his face with his arm and get back to sleep. "You like your coffee black?"

"I like my coffee with a double of whiskey in it."

"So, black."

Qrow cracked his eyes open. "Why are you doing this to me, Tai?"

Taiyang gave Qrow a brief smile. It was a familiar one, a comforting one. Qrow had known Taiyang since their school days—had known him, Qrow realized with a jolt, longer than he'd not-known him. As ever, Taiyang kept his blonde hair short but shaggy, and maintained the impressive physique of a Huntsman who did his business at arm's length. He wasn't as careful about managing his facial hair, which seemed about three days neglected. That was different; he'd always been clean-shaven, once upon a time…

The thought brought back memories that hurt, and Qrow winced in pain rather than think about them. Taiyang, oblivious, went back to his breakfast preparations. "Ruby and Yang are already awake, but I managed to divert them away before they discovered you were here. You know how they'll act if they find you."

Qrow grunted.

"So, I figured I'd do you a solid," said Taiyang, spooning eggs onto toast. "Give you the opportunity to not have to deal with that."

"I like 'dealing with' my nieces," said Qrow defensively.

"When you're not tired, injured, and hungover," said Taiyang keenly.

Qrow groaned. The man had a point, as usual.

"It's up to you," said Taiyang. "I just wanted to give you the choice."

"I appreciate that," Qrow said, and despite his tone of voice he meant it. He was, after all, tired, injured, and hungover, and none of those conditions were going to change in the near future. That made the prospect of dealing with the girls—particularly Ruby and her default energy level of triple-espresso—less enjoyable than usual.

By the same token, though, he was tired, injured, and hungover, which meant that making a clean getaway wasn't in the cards. Nothing that involved moving was, honestly, even for whatever goodness Tai was whipping up in the kitchen.

He did a quick self-assessment, a practice driven into his head by years of hard living and solo survival. Ribs, left ankle, right thigh, right bicep—all the places where he'd suffered hits or pushed his luck (ha ha) and aura too far—all were sore and tender still. Aura was patching them up, but slowly. Focusing the projection of one's soul to contain or heal damage was second nature to a Huntsman, but there was no focusing when the damaged area was "everywhere". It'd probably be days before he could fight at full strength again, longer before he felt whole.

Headache, to be expected—seven out of ten, he'd say. On his scale, that was right between "aftermath of five-hour pub crawl" and "ten minute talk with Raven". He was partially dehydrated, that was for sure, between the field work and the alcohol he'd had afterwards. Coffee would help and hurt. Alcohol, ditto.

His weapon was by his side still. Good. He didn't expect to have to use Harbinger—Taiyang's house was the safest place in the area in his opinion—but he'd have felt lost without it. There was nothing like a broadsword-slash-scythe with a hilt shotgun to help you sleep at night.

Supplies. He was out of food and, worse, out of booze; the last of his whiskey had gone to salving his pain last night. Again, a good reason to visit Taiyang, where food (though not booze) was plentiful. He had a little money to fix the booze problem, once he was fit enough to travel.

His mission was complete for now, too. He'd fired off his report before staggering into Taiyang's. He was off duty for the time being.

All in all, the idea of spending some time with the family… was a nice thought.

"Fudge."

Qrow sighed. Of course. The universe had such great comedic timing.

"So, enjoy this cup of coffee," said Taiyang, wandering back in Qrow's direction. "It might be the last we have for a bit."

"Oh?" said Qrow with poorly concealed dread. He had an inkling of what Taiyang was about to say...

"Yeah. Looks like the coffee maker just gave up the ghost."

…dammit.

"No big deal," said Taiyang, shrugging affably. "It was really old. I'd been wanting to get a new one for a while."

"Right," said Qrow. "What a coincidence. Real lucky break, there."

"Qrow."

"What?" Qrow snapped.

"You've been here nine hours and you're already slipping into your self-loathing routine," said Taiyang sternly. "It was an old coffee maker. I wanted to get rid of it. It's a good thing it died. Now I can stop being stupidly frugal and replace it, like I should have done ages ago. Okay?"

Qrow refrained from answering for as long as he could. "Fine," he said at last. This was an old dance for the two of them. Qrow knew his semblance better than anyone, knew the signs, knew the sorts of things it did. And Taiyang refused to know Qrow's semblance, refused to see the signs, and refused to acknowledge what it did.

Taiyang could be impossible to reason with, and Qrow had neither the energy nor the will to argue the point. Easier to pretend to agree and let it go.

It did revise his opinion on his next steps, though.

With effort he hauled himself into a sitting position. Taiyang was standing before him, expectantly, holding two cups of coffee. Qrow took one of them, steeled himself, and took a bracing drink. Stewed bean-water, honestly… coffee wasn't to help you wake up, it was to punish the body for being tired… Qrow managed to choke it down, scalding though it was.

"Well," he said with a shake of his head, "thanks for the hospitality and the place to crash, Tai. You're the best."

Taiyang frowned. "You can't mean you're leaving."

"I'll grab some food so I don't hurt your feelings," said Qrow with a grin that was only skin-deep. "Like you said, I'm not up for seeing the girls right now, so I'd best be on my way."

Taiyang extended one finger towards Qrow's chest. He pressed firmly.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow," said Qrow, sinking back into the couch to try and escape.

"You're not flying the coop in that condition," said Taiyang with a mixture of disappointment and concern.

Irritation bubbled up in Qrow's chest. "Sure thing, Mister Mom."

Taiyang smiled—a small, bittersweet smile. "You always say that like it's supposed to hurt me, but it never does. And you know I'm right."

"I could leave," Qrow said contrarily.

"You could," Taiyang admitted. "You could drag your miserable, complaining, half-dead carcass somewhere else. And you'd be giving up several days of family, warm beds, and free food."

Dammit. "I thought you woke me up to give me a chance to run off," said Qrow, annoyed, as usual, at Taiyang's generosity.

"It was to give you a chance to hide in the spare bedroom," said Taiyang, and he smiled for a moment before it faltered. "We built this as a four-bedroom house. You know that."

The words were more sobering than the coffee. "Yeah," mumbled Qrow. "I know that."

He couldn't face Taiyang like this. Not with those thoughts in his head. He took another sip of his coffee. Nope, still heinous, but he did feel marginally more human. A little suffering always grounded him nicely.

Unsurprisingly, it was Taiyang who was able to rally himself first. "So," he said, more sedately, "I'll be going up to Signal now. Breakfast is in the kitchen. There's enough for you and the girls, and they know to clean up after. If you want to avoid company, I'd say you've got about five minutes to clear out."

"Sure," said Qrow. He didn't say anything else, and Taiyang, after a moment's awkward silence, headed for the door. The sound of the door opening jogged something loose; he had to say it. "You know, I still say you're being dumb about this… but thanks."

He heard Taiyang's smile. He could see it without looking. "This is your home too, Qrow."

"Lucky me."

The door closed, leaving Qrow alone once more. He didn't mind being alone, really. It was better that way.

He sighed and decided to stop lying to himself for a minute.

Fine. He'd wait for the girls.

Given the moment, he looked around. Taiyang was keeping the house up well. Qrow would have to congratulate him on that. It was an achievement, given that it was a big house, he had no adults to help him, and he did have two aspiring Huntresses stomping around.

Qrow caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror near the entry. He took in his own appearance for a while. Black, graying, spiky hair (which he liked), red eyes (which he loved), a well-worn gray shirt and black pants (which he appreciated for how little dirt they showed), the shoulder clasps for his red cape (his biggest concession to vanity), and a permanent slouch (which he'd given up trying to fix).

As he looked more, he saw other signs, too. Unkempt facial hair. Pale skin, even by his standards, that clung close to his bones. Heavy bags under his eyes. Shallow breathing (his ribs complained about anything deep). He could see how poorly he was taking care of himself. He was a mess.

Man, he was too sober to be this maudlin. At least the girls would help in that regard. They'd never once complained about his appearance. Probably they didn't know quite what it signified.

He'd managed another few swigs of coffee before they returned. He heard them before he saw them.

"You can't be in my class, I'm two years ahead of you."

"Come oooooon, I can keep up with the coursework, you know that."

"It's not up to me, sis, and _you_ know that…"

"U—UNCLE QROW!"

A blur of red launched across the room at Qrow. Qrow might have had top-notch reflexes, but he was far from the top of his game at the moment. His advantage was experience. The moment the door had started to open, he'd put his uninjured arm in front of him. Ruby Rose's arms latched on to that for her hug, even though the impact still left Qrow wincing.

"I'm so happy to see you!" she squealed.

"Hey, look, it's the attack of the pipsqueaks," he said affectionately, and he felt his insides warm faster and more pleasantly than any drink of coffee could do. Ruby was much as he remembered her: face-framing black hair with red highlights, bottomless silver eyes, facial features two years behind her actual age, and a baseline energy level most people couldn't achieve without drugs. He did notice some changes: she seemed gangly, all shins and forearms. "Not as much of a pipsqueak now, are you? Looks like you've grown another inch or two."

"I'm still short, though," Ruby said, and her voice was rich in annoyance.

"And flat," added Yang Xiao Long in well-practiced big-sister-harassment tones.

"Am not, am not!" Ruby shouted over her shoulder. "It just seems that way next to you!"

"Nice to see you, too, Firecracker," Qrow said with a nod at Yang. He pretended not to know what they were talking about, and failed spectacularly. At age 16, the elder sister was developing more and more obviously than the younger, much to Ruby's chagrin. Yang was still the same person, of course—the lilac eyes and brilliant mane of untamable yellow hair made her a singular figure—but when Qrow had been here last she'd been a _girl_. He wasn't sure that word worked for her anymore.

It bothered him, honestly, and he tried not to notice, but she made that impossible just by existing. It was like trying to stare at the sun and not notice the light.

She smiled. The whole room seemed to brighten when she did. "Hey, Uncle Qrow," she said. "You look like warmed-over death."

"And I feel like lukewarm death," Qrow said, easing Ruby onto the couch next to him. "Got into a situation at the end of my last mission. Nothing I couldn't handle, just got a bit rough, that's all. I figured I'd crash with you kids for a few days, check up on how you're doing, y'know?"

"So cool!" said Ruby, stars in her eyes. "Is this one of the missions you can tell us about, or one of your Secret Squirrel missions?"

Qrow cocked his head, amused. "Kiddo, what's with the 'Secret Squirrel' thing? You've used that phrase before, and I don't get it. Where do the squirrels figure in?"

"That's just what dad called it," Ruby replied. "We asked where you were one time, and he muttered something about Secret Squirrel Sh… stuff."

"Shit," corrected Yang.

Ruby's head whipped around. "Language!" she barked.

"It's what he said," was Yang's laughing response. "I'm just trying to be historically accurate."

"I get in trouble if I talk like that," Ruby grumbled mutinously.

"Yeah, but dad learned years ago that popping me on the wrist doesn't work out so well," Yang shot back with a devil-may-care grin.

"You get your wrists popped often?" Qrow asked.

"No," they both replied.

"Do you _deserve_ to get your wrists popped often?" Qrow corrected himself.

"No," they said again, half-laughing.

"You could afford to be a bit more daring, then," said Qrow. "You don't wanna get in too much trouble, but a little trouble is good for the soul."

"I'll be sure to tell dad you told us that," teased Yang. "Hey, dad, you'll never believe what a _little birdie_ told me…"

She was forcing the jokes, just like Tai always did, Qrow knew. "He's used to it," Qrow said with a shrug. "He was always the responsible one. He's the one who became a teacher while I went off to play crusader."

Yang's face darkened at that, but Ruby overshadowed her by nearly bouncing in her seat. "But you could be a teacher too, didn't you hear?"

"Huh?"

"They're having staffing issues up at Signal," explained Yang, her expression restored. "Dad was telling us about them."

"Huh," said Qrow. "Is that why you kids are out of school but he had to go in?"

"Term doesn't start until Monday," Ruby replied. "We're still off, but he has to go in to get ready."

"Oh." As usual, Qrow's grasp on time was shaky. How much of their lives had he missed this time? He tried briefly to do the math, but that hurt, so he stopped. He'd missed a lot, he decided. More than he'd meant to.

Yang went on without noticing Qrow's head-pain. "But that's the tricky part, they're trying to work out who's going to teach what, with all the holes to fill. One teacher retired, Meriwether's on medical leave until she gets a new prosthetic…"

"And it's a good prosthetic she needs, one of the expensive ones from Atlas, which is super-cool but it means it takes forever to get it shipped all the way here to Patch," said Ruby enthusiastically.

"…And Horten's on maternity leave, and Lewis took a job in Mistral," Yang finished.

Ruby nodded her agreement. "All normal stuff, it's just happening all at once. The school's had a run of bad luck, you know?"

Qrow fixed his smile in place so that the kids wouldn't know how his insides were suddenly squirming. _No,_ he told himself. _It can't be you. You weren't even here when all of this was happening. It was all before, right? Right. Your semblance is powerful, but it doesn't reach across continents._

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Qrow nodded. "Yeah, does sound like an unhappy coincidence."

"No, it's a happy one," said Ruby. "Dad was saying that if they had even one more teacher it would make all the difference. They could rearrange things and scrape by. If only there was someone nearby who was qualified…"

Qrow blinked. There was no way she was suggesting what he thought she was suggesting.

She made a gesture with her hands, as if she _obviously was_ suggesting what he thought she was suggesting.

"I hope they find one," Qrow said, hoping she'd take the hint.

"They won't have to," said Ruby proudly. "I found them one already."

"Who is it?" asked Qrow with a hint of desperation.

"You, duh," was Ruby's expected but unwelcome answer.

Qrow moaned and leaned back until his head was sagging over the back of the couch. "Ruby, kiddo, you're the best, but that is such a galactically bad idea I can't even start with it. I'd have to invent whole new words to describe how bad an idea it is."

"That doesn't sound like 'no'," said Ruby.

Qrow closed his eyes and gave a weak chuckle. "Okay, I'll play your game. No."

"I think you'd make a great teacher," Ruby said.

"Me too," added Yang.

"Why would you think that?" said Qrow, baffled.

"You've taught us a bunch, and it's always helped us," Yang said.

"I've gotten much better since your last visit," Ruby said, "and all because I've been training like you taught me."

"Huh," said Qrow, uncertain and nervous, but the girls didn't let him try and defend himself.

"You've been on active duty as a Huntsman longer than we've been alive," Ruby said. "I bet you've got all sorts of cool stories!"

"You have experiences none of our teachers have," Yang agreed. "You've been all over Remnant…"

"…you've fought grimm on every continent…"

"…you're a Huntsman legend…"

"…we hear stories about you all the time…"

"…not to mention all the Secret Squirrel Shit…"

"Language!"

"…you can teach us things we can't learn from anyone else," said Yang, like she was putting a bow on top.

 _That's probably true, and that's part of the problem._ "It sounds a lot cooler than it was when you put it like that," he said.

Yang rolled her eyes. "Sorry, but I remember you finishing off half your stories by saying, 'And trust me, it was even more awesome in real life. You had to be there'."

She even did the voice. He was impressed against his will. "Most of that isn't combat school stuff, though," he protested. "That might be nice for the Huntsman academies, but it's not… appropriate for Signal." _I'm_ _not appropriate for Signal._

Ruby scoffed. "Are you saying you're _over_ qualified to teach us?"

"Uh…" He pulled his hands over his face. "Listen, girls, I just woke up. I'm tired, injured, and hu—headachey. And hungry. I haven't even had breakfast yet. I'm not talking about this on an empty stomach."

"That's doesn't sound like 'no'," Ruby said again, wiggling in her seat.

"But it is a promise to talk more after we eat," said Yang mercilessly.

Qrow chuckled. "How does Tai live with you two? You must have him wrapped around your fingers."

"He bribes us a lot," said Yang as she walked to the kitchen.

"How do you suppose Yang got a motorcycle?" Ruby said as she followed her older sister's lead.

"And you need to learn to drive a harder bargain," Yang chided her younger sister. "He can usually buy you off with just cookies."

"I _like_ cookies, thank you very much…"

Qrow made contented noises. Ah, domesticity. It was an idea so alien to him it was like it belonged to another species, but a nibble of it now and then was nice. Just enough to get the taste in his mouth. It helped. It really helped.

Of course it had been Taiyang who managed to settle down. He was the only member of Team STRQ who'd been cut out for that life. Mister Mom. Qrow had been calling him that for years before he had kids. He hadn't known how right he'd be.

It wasn't a bad life, when you got right down to it. It was steady work—there were always kids who needed schooling, and your odds of coming home safe at the end of each day were pretty damn high compared to the alternatives. Patch had just enough grimm that he could work up a sweat if he cared to, and plenty of places to buy alcohol when he needed it, and…

Oh, blech, was he thinking about Tai or himself? Either way, _blech._

"Food."

Qrow hauled himself to something vaguely upright-ish, though his body ached to do so. Ruby was holding a plate towards him. Toast, eggs, fruit, something from the sausage family. An altogether more nourishing and wholesome breakfast than any he'd had in the past six weeks. He hoped it stayed down.

Piling all the rest of the food onto the toast until it was overloaded, he lifted the toast and gave the widest bite he could manage. He couldn't help the appreciative moan that escaped him as the flavors washed over his tongue.

"That good, huh?" said Yang, eyebrow raised.

Qrow chewed enough that he could stuff what was left into one cheek. "'U ne'er reaiii… mrf." He chewed some more, tried again. "You never realize how much you take food for granted until you're on your own in the wild. Especially if you're in the wide spaces between major cities. _Especially_ if you're moving on your own power, and you have to carry everything yourself." Chew chew, swallow. "The foods that keep the best taste the worst. And you have to track how much you're eating, and how long it can last. You can scrounge up food in some cases, but all the time you spend finding food is time you spend not doing the mission you're out for in the first place, so sometimes it can do more harm than good. Food's serious business for a Huntsman."

The girls glanced at each other as he took another bite of his toast. They smiled; Ruby spoke. "Sounds like he'd be perfect teaching our Logistics classes, huh?"

Qrow gagged. Eggs tried to slide down the wrong pipe.

"No," argued Yang, "I'd want him running our Survival practicals."

Qrow managed to cough the eggs back onto his plate.

"You gonna make it there, Uncle Qrow?" said Yang, smirking at him. "What an embarrassing way to snuff it. The legendary Huntsman, Qrow Branwen, felled by his breakfast."

"'His death was tragic… and delicious'," Ruby added, holding up her hands as if to frame the words.

"You girls are what's killing me," Qrow mumbled. "I don't know why you're so dead set on this."

"We don't know why you're not," Yang said, and her voice was quieter this time. It let her confusion come to the fore.

Qrow took another bite of his breakfast. He was sure to fully chew this one before speaking again. "It'd be a bad idea," he said, in lieu of explaining. "Besides, I'm just here for a few days while I pull myself together again. Then it's back out to the field. You know, where the real work gets done."

"Where are you headed to next?" Ruby said innocently.

"Dunno," said Qrow with a frown. He pulled his scroll out and checked it. There was his mission report, and there was the reply. That was faster than he'd expected. It must have come in while he was sleeping off his Qrow-ness.

_Good work as usual, Qrow. Take the next two weeks to recover. I'll contact you once things have developed more. -Oz_

"Is it somewhere fun and exotic?" Ruby asked, sweet as can be.

"Uh…" Qrow thought hard—where was somewhere far he hadn't been lately? "Solitas," he managed.

"You took an awful long time answering," said Yang keenly. "I think you just made that up."

 _Damn_ these kids. "So what if I did?" said Qrow, losing his temper. "I'm not hanging around long enough to be a teacher, and that's that! I've got better things to do than play with kids!"

Ruby and Yang looked at each other. They didn't speak for a moment. Great, was this their version of sibling telepathy? His form of that with Raven had been much more limited (mostly variations on the word 'bitch'); he rarely knew what she was thinking. Was it different for these two?

He focused on his food. He enjoyed it. He didn't want to; the more he did, the harder it would be to leave when the time came. He couldn't help himself. Taiyang had gotten awfully good since the days when he'd been STRQ's team cook. (Almost by default. Summer had been the team baker, but that was different. Raven burned everything she cooked, which the others agreed was probably deliberate. Qrow was perma-banned from all kitchens.)

"I guess that's it," said Yang casually. "I know a lost cause when I see one."

Ruby sighed. "It's too bad. I wanted him to stick around a while, this time."

"It can't be helped." Yang held out her hand; Ruby deposited her plate in it. "Hey Rubes, you ready for our morning spar?"

"Meet you there," she said, then turned to Qrow. "You wanna watch? We'd love for you to see how we've been coming along."

Qrow smiled. Genuinely, to his surprise. "I suppose," he said. "I've got time to kill, and watching you kids flail cracks me up."

"Great!" said Ruby, clapping. "We'll be out front in a few minutes. I know you're still finishing breakfast, so just come out when you're ready, okay?"

He didn't have a chance to respond before she was zipping upstairs. There was a brief bit of crashing, more thump-thump of feet coming back downstairs, and then she was out the door with such vigor he was surprised the hinges held.

Qrow took his time finishing his food. Yang was outside long before he'd cleaned his plate, choked down the last of his coffee, and chased it with several glasses of water. He even had enough time to rummage around for a hangover cure. As he'd expected, he didn't come across any alcohol in his search, but he was able to put together a hair of the dog that was, if nothing else, a splendid placebo.

At last his stomach was settled and his headache was manageable. He headed for the door.

As soon as he walked out there was yapping to his right. Qrow barely glanced at Zwei, the black-and-white corgi Taiyang usually remembered to care for. "Hey there," he said in Zwei's direction, and the dog—unusually perceptive for its kind—barked back. Zwei didn't approach, though. Qrow had never _tried_ to kick the corgi, but whatever power protects pets rushing at a human's legs was no match for Qrow's semblance. Zwei learned quickly.

The girls seemed to be between falls. Both were panting, but their weapons weren't in ready positions, and they were chatting. Ruby noticed Qrow leaving the house. "Ca-caw," she called.

Yang grinned. "Ready, then?"

"You bet!" said Ruby. She hoisted her weapon, it unfolded, and…

…and it was larger than she was, even with her growth spurt.

This wasn't the same weapon she'd wielded when he'd been here last. Sure, it was a scythe, that was the same, but plenty about it had changed. Qrow found himself reverse-engineering it in his head as he watched her twirl it about, partly to make ready, partly to discourage Yang from any reckless charges.

Her technique was off, though. She wasn't used to it, he could tell immediately. Both weapon and wielder had changed, and they needed time to grow together.

He frowned. The unfamiliarity was manifesting in another way, too…

Yang kept just out of Ruby's range, close enough to probe and force Ruby to act, not close enough to get punished. She was teasing Ruby, threatening her, trying to provoke—

There it was. Ruby felt a feint like it was a charge, took a lunging swing that fell short. Yang stepped around it, and…

And made a gruesome footwork mistake Qrow would never believe Taiyang's daughter could make. She didn't suffer for it, but it was so fundamentally flawed Qrow felt pain.

Now Yang was charging inside Ruby's weapon range, but Ruby was backing away even as she twirled, bringing her scythe around again. Not enough; Yang was struck by the staff, not the blade, and she was more than able to absorb that kind of hit. Cheeky girl actually gave Qrow a wink even as she advanced. A right hook came around.

Even expecting the blast that erupted from Yang's gauntlet when she connected, Qrow was still caught off-guard by its volume. Yang was packing _heat_ in those things.

A fact that was just as helpfully communicated by Ruby stumbling and falling backwards, aura sparking brightly at having to absorb such a blast. Yang advanced another step, staying well inside Ruby's range and guard. Ruby unexpectedly threw her weapon forward—then burst forward with impossible speed, underneath Yang's next punch, catching Crescent Rose in the act and spinning to a stop out of range. Rose petals fluttered past her as she made ready again.

Zwei barked excitedly. As if that was a signal, both girls eased out of their stances. Yang laughed as she faced her sister. "Okay, you survived, but I still won the pass."

"Yeah, suppose you did," said Ruby sheepishly. "I was done as soon as I committed on your feint. What do you think, Uncle Qrow?"

Qrow had been furiously biting his tongue, wanting to speak, desperately trying not to speak. He could see what the kids were doing, he knew their game, and they were still catching him.

They'd been messing up on purpose. He knew it. They knew he knew it. They smiled at him. Dammit.

"You have to channel your aura through your whole weapon, not just part of it," Qrow said to Ruby, though he had annoyance enough for everyone. "Especially you, since all a scythe's weight is at the head. If your aura isn't reaching out there and making the weapon an extension of you, it'll always be too heavy. You _know_ that."

"Guess I just… forgot," Ruby said, unconvincingly. "Crescent Rose is bigger now, so I gotta get used to pushing my aura that much more, I suppose."

"And you," Qrow said, glaring at Yang, "what was that crossover nonsense? You know how easy it is to trip pulling a stunt like that? Even a near-miss puts you on the ground. You've gotta tighten your fundamentals if you wanna take on anything more dangerous than a fourteen-year-old with a gardening tool."

They were both taking his criticism without losing their smiles. Ruby didn't even complain about the slight against Crescent Rose. Qrow knew that he'd been had. He'd seen the trap and still fallen into it.

"It's always great to have you coaching us, Uncle Qrow," said Ruby sincerely as she stowed her weapon.

"But it'll be hard once school starts," Yang said. "Once we go back to classes, we won't be able to see you all school day, so we won't have many chances for you to teach us."

"Unless," Ruby said, hands held adorably behind her back, swaying side-to-side, "you found a way to teach us while we're _at_ school…"

Qrow glowered at them. It wasn't fair.

They weren't fair.

They were going to be _terrifying_ Huntresses.

"Fine!" he hollered, crossing his arms as if he was the petulant teenager in the situation. "Fine! I'll talk to Tai when he gets home tonight."

"Hooray!" said Ruby, and she was hugging him before he could muster any defense. Yang followed, a step behind but with more force, and he was sure the two of them would shatter what little aura he could muster.

With as much affection as he was getting, though, maybe that was a fair trade…

Crescent Rose slipped off Ruby's back, hit the ground, and fired.

Qrow would have sprang back at the noise, but four teenaged arms held him steady. Even so, he could see a branch fall from a nearby tree, blasted away by the stray sniper shot. Zwei twirled in place, barking insanely.

"You didn't engage the safety?" said Yang severely.

"Whoopsie," said Ruby, abashed. "Plus, it looks like I forgot to upgrade my stow when I rebuilt Crescent Rose, and it couldn't take the weight. I'll need to fix that… right, Uncle Qrow?"

Qrow couldn't answer. He was staring up at the sky. It had taken all of fifteen seconds for him to realize that something he'd agreed to was a terrible mistake.

Even for him, that was a record.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	2. Chicken Noises

"You coming, Uncle Qrow?" said Ruby, waving a video game controller in her hand.

"Later," said Qrow. "I gotta catch up with Tai first. You go on, I'll join you in a bit."

"Well, okay, but you're missing out…" Ruby said sing-song, and she took her sweet time going up the stairs.

"You must really be pooped," said Taiyang, holding a post-dinner cup of tea and idly stroking Zwei, who was napping in his lap. "You never pass up a chance to school the youngsters in video games."

Qrow forced the laugh, partly because he knew Taiyang expected it, partly because Tai's word choice was way too close to what Qrow wanted to talk about and the mention of it threw him off.

"So, how bad was it?" Taiyang asked.

"Huh?"

"The mission that sent you home looking like… this," he said, gesturing in Qrow's direction. "How bad was it? Are we talking "our first Ursa hunt" bad? Or was it more "Vacuo ambassador escort" bad?"

"Nothing will ever be as bad as that Vacuo ambassador escort," said Qrow, shuddering. "I hate escort missions, and that was the worst." He considered for a moment. "I'd say it was "mountain bandit roundup" bad."

Taiyang cringed. "And you were by yourself? I'm surprised you can still walk."

"Hey, I can walk just fine. Just don't ask me to run." Qrow smirked. "Good thing my semblance scales really well. The more bad guys in the area, the more chances for them to have bad things happen. It's funny how bad luck can even the odds."

A discomfited look flashed across Taiyang's face. Qrow recognized it; it was a look that appeared every time Qrow mentioned his semblance. Shame flooded through Qrow, along with the urge to run off.

Except he couldn't run, of course.

"I wish…" Taiyang began.

"…that I hadn't come?" Qrow offered.

"What? No," said Taiyang firmly. "It's the opposite, actually. I wish you'd come by more often."

"You don't have to lie to me, Tai."

Taiyang gave an ugly flush. "You're projecting again. I hate it when you do that."

"Why?"

"Because you're bad at it." Taiyang put a hand over his face. "The girls love it when you're around, Qrow. They miss you when you leave for months on end with no word. You have no idea how many times I have to field questions like, Where did he go? Or, When's he coming back? And I never have the answers. Never."

Qrow bristled. "By all means, I'll blow cover on my Secret Squirrel Shit just so you don't feel bad in front of the girls."

Taiyang's glare was fierce. "If I thought you were being sincere, it'd take me all night to unpack all the ways you're wrong. Why are you being a jerk to me tonight, Qrow? To me? You can't even blame being drunk."

"Then I'll blame being sober," said Qrow, and it was a joke. Sort of.

"Well, could you stop?"

"I'll… try." That was true, at least. "I'm in a weird place right now."

"We all are," said Taiyang ruefully. "It's called 'being alive'."

"Maybe, but I reckon my weird place is a lot weirder than most."

Taiyang sipped his tea to avoid answering. "I'm serious, though. Can you stay a while? For the girls? Especially for Ruby, you know she adores you."

Qrow grunted. "She took her weapon design in a new direction. Removed the hilt shotgun and went with a rifle instead."

Taiyang rolled his eyes. "It's still a transforming scythe that's also a gun. She toned it down from "totally derivative" to "mostly derivative". I understand how disrespected you must feel."

"I wasn't complaining, I was impressed. It's a sweet piece of work."

"It's also a total homage to the cool grownup in her life," Taiyang added pointedly.

"She needs more practice with it."

"And some guidance."

This was the opportunity Qrow had been thinking he'd need—a chance for a smooth transition to the uncomfortable topic of the night. Naturally, Qrow found himself dreading it. "Yeah… about that."

Taiyang closed his eyes as if praying for patience. "I can't wait to hear what excuse you have for running off this time."

"Will you gimme a minute?" said Qrow irritably. "Now who's projecting?"

"I'm sorry," said Taiyang, more easily and graciously than Qrow could have managed. He set his tea aside. "What's on your mind?"

Snapping at Taiyang had been easy and comfortable. It was mean, of course, but being mean was a good escape, and Taiyang could take it.

…dammit, Qrow was rationalizing again. Ugh. He needed a drink. It would be a lot easier to talk about this with alcohol in his veins.

And all of this internal life was just to try and distract from the external life of Taiyang waiting with the patience of a saint for Qrow to get his act together for long enough to speak.

Qrow rubbed his temples. His headache was intensifying. "The girls… we had a chat this morning."

"They're a talkative pair."

"And they kinda… um… had an idea for me."

"What kind of idea?" asked Taiyang. "An idea for your staying here, or an idea for you going away?"

"I guess that depends," said Qrow.

"Well, nice of you to clear that up."

"I'm trying, okay? I'm trying." He cleared his throat unnecessarily. "See, they were telling me about the staffing problems up at Signal. And they said that having one more teacher would really help you out."

Taiyang blinked, as if there was no way Qrow was suggesting what Taiyang thought he was suggesting.

Qrow, unable to speak, made a gesture with his hands, as if he _obviously was_ suggesting what Taiyang thought he was suggesting.

"You want to teach at Signal," Taiyang said, and his voice begged to be contradicted.

"Well, the girls want me to teach at Signal," Qrow said, disowning responsibility. "I just promised I'd ask you about it."

Taiyang, evidently deciding a simple face-palm was not sufficient, sank his face into both his hands.

"Hey, it was their idea," said Qrow defensively.

"I bet it was."

"It's no big deal," said Qrow, retreating as rapidly as he could. "I think it's dumb. I'm really just bringing it up so you can agree with me that it's dumb and I can get the girls off my back."

Taiyang looked up. "Is that really what you want?"

"Well, yeah, of course," lied Qrow. "Why do you ask? What do you think I want?"

 _If he tells me_ , Qrow thought to himself, _at least one of us will know._

"I feel, like, twelve different emotions about this," said Taiyang unhelpfully. "I don't know how I feel about this, let alone how you do."

"I knew it was a stupid idea," said Qrow. "Let's forget I said anything, okay?"

"Sure," said Taiyang. Qrow relaxed fractionally. "…if that's what you want."

"Why couldn't you have just stopped the first time?" said Qrow, leaning back until his head dangled behind the couch again. "What I want is to never talk about this again."

"Great," said Taiyang. "Fine."

"Glad that's settled," said Qrow, staring at the ceiling.

From upstairs came a whooping sound (Yang) and a cry of despair (Ruby).

"You're so full of it."

"I know. Please shoot me," said Qrow. "Then I'll be medically disqualified. I should be disqualified for a dozen other reasons."

"Like what?" said Taiyang.

Qrow couldn't believe what he was hearing. He lifted his head enough to look at Taiyang. "You know what."

"I want you to tell me."

"First: I'm beat all to hell."

"You'll heal."

"I swear too much."

"You don't always. You can control it."

"Like hell I can."

"You forced that."

Qrow growled, called out properly and unhappy about it. "I'm barely presentable in-person. Sloppy at my best, disgraceful at my worst. I'm no role model."

"We can clean you up."

Qrow gave a dark chuckle. "How much time are you willing to put into that? Because it'd be a whole lot."

"If you're trying to convince me this is a bad idea, you'll have to do better than 'sometimes I forget to shower'."

That made Qrow close his eyes. "Not letting me off the hook the easy way, huh? Alright. Let's play hardball." He hauled himself forward so he was looking Taiyang square in the eyes. "I can't be a teacher because I'm a danger to myself and those around me. The list of people who want me dead is so long it's got an index and appendices. I've killed so many things and people that I'm not sure I'm still human. My semblance makes me a walking disaster area. I'd be taking that semblance to a place full of half-trained, weak-aura fledglings surrounded by sharp edges and explosives. I deal with all of the above by keeping my blood alcohol level above the legal driving limit twenty hours a day, and being slobbering drunk the other four."

He rubbed at his temples. His headache was starting to rear up. His throat was parched, and the water wasn't helping. "The best-case scenario is the kids don't learn anything from me. The worst-case scenario is that they do."

Taiyang sighed. "That's so like you," he said. "Everything you said is completely true. It's also only half the story."

"What other half could there be?" Qrow growled.

"You knew all of that before you asked me. You knew all of that while the girls were sweet-talking you into this. You knew. And you asked me anyway. You came to me to try and talk you out of it, because you couldn't talk yourself out of it."

"This is stupid!" Qrow exploded. "Why do I need anyone to talk me out of anything?"

"Because you want to do this, but you're terrified of it too, which is why you came to me hoping I would make the decision for you."

Qrow scoffed. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Taiyang's face twisted in pain. "Because I'm right and you know it."

" _Damn_ it. I need a drink."

"Me too."

Qrow gave Taiyang a hopeful look. "Really? Whatcha got?"

"Nothing. I was just saying."

Qrow's face scrunched up in disappointment. "You're a vicious tease, Tai."

"Raven used to say that, too."

Qrow thought, for a moment, that the allusion would hurt… but it didn't. When the pain didn't come, he relaxed, and even chuckled. "Yeah, she did. But I thought it was Summer who called you that more."

"No, she just called me a big ol' meanie."

Qrow's laugh was genuine this time. "I totally remember that. I think I heard it in her voice."

Before his eyes, Taiyang seemed to slip away. He vanished visibly into another time, another place… or maybe the same place, after all, but with other people…

People who were never coming back…

"Hey," Qrow prompted. He was throwing a lifeline.

Taiyang started. "Sorry," he said, reflexively.

"It's nothing," said Qrow.

They were quiet for a moment.

"Qrow," said Taiyang, hesitantly, "I miss them."

Qrow nodded. He'd known it would come back to this. It always did. "Me too."

"But I don't regret knowing them," Taiyang went on. "If there's one thing the kids have taught me, it's that even the best parts of life aren't just fun and joy. There's more to all of it. There's…" He stopped, chewed on his words, tried again. "The hard parts are part of the ride, too. But that doesn't mean we get off. Does that make sense?"

Qrow nodded. He wasn't sure if he agreed, but he knew where Taiyang was going. Best to get it over with. "I think so."

"I think you should give it a shot," Taiyang said abruptly. "You can't do worse than me."

Qrow snorted. "I could do worse than you with my eyes closed."

"Well, having your eyes closed during a combat course probably would make you do worse."

"You know what I mean."

Taiyang's expression grew serious again. "Don't get me wrong, your objections are good ones. Did you tell them to the girls when they came up with this bonkers scheme?"

Qrow couldn't face Taiyang. Couldn't withstand the scrutiny of that face. "I try not to advertise to the girls how screwed up I am. I haven't even explained my semblance to them." He gave a mirthless chuckle. "Misfortune is something I can't control. If I can't even tell them about that, how the hell do I tell them about the stuff I could control and don't? They have this idea of me as this great person. I… don't want to take that away from them."

"And you want to feel it, too." Qrow's head jerked up, but Taiyang wasn't looking at him; his old teammate's eyes were out of focus. "If someone else thinks you have value, maybe you can believe them. Maybe you can let yourself feel that way. It makes you feel like a fraud, but it feels so good you want to keep it anyway. Even if you know, in your soul, you don't deserve it…"

Taiyang trailed off. His words made Qrow frown. "Who're we talking about, again?"

Taiyang gave a great, heaving breath. "I'll take you up to Signal in the morning," he said. "It's the weekend, but with term about to start, a good chunk of the staff is up there anyway. I'll introduce you to Professor Boq then."

"…thanks," said Qrow, and even in his ears it was as much question as statement.

"And for goodness' sake, clean yourself up a bit first," said Taiyang good-naturedly.

"I'll consider it, Mister Mom," said Qrow, a smile teasing the sides of his mouth. "In the meantime, I think I'll go upstairs and pwn some noobs."

"Oh, puh-lease," said Taiyang, wincing in pain, "you're forty, Qrow, please don't talk like that."

"Leet skillz know no age," Qrow said, gingerly unfolding himself and standing. "Just leave a blanket out on the couch so I can crash there later."

"You sure you don't want to sleep in…" started Taiyang, but he didn't finish the sentence; he'd cut himself off even before Qrow's head whipped around to glare at him. "Right. Of course."

"See you in the morning," Qrow said gruffly, and he went about the delicate task of climbing the stairs with no cooperating muscle groups.

* * *

"Uncle Qrow! Uncle Qrow!"

"Sheesh, Rubes, give him a chance. He's still banged up, remember?"

"Oh! I'm sorry! Sorry, Uncle Qrow. It's just… we're excited to help you get going!"

Ugh. Qrow wasn't even fully conscious yet and his headache was already a seven out of ten. ("Trying to answer a seemingly-innocent question from Ozpin.")

"Here, I'll do you a favor, Uncle Qrow. I'll drag the Rubester away so you can get a proper wake-up."

"But we're giving him a proper wake-up, it's not like I was… eek!"

Sounds of a scuffle. Stomp stomp stomp. Sounds of teens straining and limbs slapping against each other. Finally, a furious tapping-out.

"Okay, okay, mercy!"

"Seriously, Ruby, if you wanna try this again, you're gonna have to take a few hand-to-hand classes. Stop taking all weapons electives."

"But I _like_ weapons electives, and this is all I'd use hand-to-hand foooh, that hurt! I give up! Okay, I'll go to the kitchen!"

Qrow scrunched his eyes shut as tight as he could, but light still reached them, and it wasn't helping him get back to sleep. Resignation manifested as a shudder.

His muscles felt, if anything, tighter and sorer than before. Now that he could rest his body was knitting itself back together, which gave his muscles the opportunity to register their many, many complaints with him. Aura was miraculous, but it didn't do anything for pain.

Qrow would have killed for a drink. Instead, he'd have to make do with… whatever Taiyang had lying around.

Wait. Taiyang. He was in _Taiyang's_ house. He was suddenly terrified.

"Hey," he called at large. "What do you have for painkillers around here?"

"Oh, not feeling well?" Yang's voice.

"No, I'm asking for painkillers because I'm just peachy," snarled Qrow. "What've you got?"

Ruby squealed. "Oooh, sit tight, Uncle Qrow, we've gotcha! Yang, get to the fridge! I'll get a motivational cat poster!"

"On it," said Yang.

It was worse than Qrow had feared.

There was a rush of wind past him and a clumsy (but very rapid) thump-thump up the stairs, some rummaging sounds, then an even faster thump-thump back down. Heavier footsteps from the kitchen joined the thump-thump.

"Here we are, Uncle Qrow!"

Qrow allowed his eyes to creep open. They stung. They watered. They stung _and_ watered. He stuck with it, and after several seconds, he could make out the girls and their offerings.

Neither of them held anything resembling pills, medicinal syrups, or booze. Instead, Yang was holding a glass of whole milk. Ruby's entire torso was blocked by a large poster. On it, a cat stood on top of a door and reached out a paw towards a balloon. The picture was captioned: "I see no way in which this carefully conceived plan could possibly fail."

"Xiao Long-Rose family cure-alls!" said Ruby, bursting with pride. "How do you feel now, Uncle Qrow?"

He groaned in response. His headache was up to eight out of ten. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Signal Combat School was no Beacon Academy. It didn't need to be. Beacon Academy was a finishing school that produced licensed Huntsmen and Huntresses, hosted the Kingdom of Vale's communications tower, and guarded any number of dark secrets—some Qrow knew, others he could only imagine. It had to be large and lavish for all those reasons, to include the size and demands of its student body.

In contrast, Signal's students—being younger and not nearly as far along in their training—put rather less demand on the school's facilities.

Still, Qrow could recognize it as the same sort of place. All the same sorts of facilities were present, in a U-shaped arrangement. Near the front gates was the dormitory for the students from outside of Patch (which was the majority, even if most of Patch's children attended Signal). There was the kitchen-cafeteria next to it. Further along was the gym, and (at the bottom of the U) the administration building. It was the largest, ornate in its façade, and boasting a spire which served as Patch's relay for the Beacon CCT tower. It was also the last remnant of the fort that had, once upon a time, stood guard over Patch's harbor, meaning it was simultaneously the prettiest building on campus and the oldest and least comfortable. The other arm of the U was a long building with classrooms, training rooms, and an auditorium. Finally, with as few neighbors as possible, was a squat, round, heavily reinforced building that had to be the forge.

Qrow could imagine what lay outside the U: firing ranges, obstacle courses, fields, all inside of a very strong defensive perimeter. Patch was a small island with few grimm, but those it had were drawn to Signal like moths to a flame.

Again, all of it much like Beacon… but smaller, less grand. "Cozy" would be the charitable term, if you were of that sort of mind. "Cheap" if you wanted to be a jerk.

Qrow appreciated all of this through about half an eye.

"Are you even awake?" said Taiyang.

"'m here, aren' I?"

Taiyang scowled at him. "I suppose Professor Boq needs to know what he's getting."

"What'm I getting?" Qrow mumbled. "I've heard of Boq, but never met him. What's he like?"

"He's responsible, hard-working, and dedicated to the education of our students."

"Thanks for nothing."

Qrow had seen far too much to be even modestly impressed by the administration building, but he acknowledged that they were trying. He was much happier to be indoors and out of the sun. He was able to bring his eye up to three-quarters open.

He didn't run into anyone on the way, and he only stumbled twice. He was proud of himself for that. Even better was that the building had an elevator. He wasn't sure how his useless body would have handled stairs.

They passed some people, but Qrow didn't have the wherewithal to pay them much mind. It wasn't until they got to someone who was clearly an administrator that he pulled his faculties together. "Yes," she said, "Professor Boq is expecting you. Go on in."

"You're on your own from here, Qrow," said Taiyang. "Good luck."

There was a jerk from the administrator's head—had she not known who was coming? That was funny—as Qrow shambled into the office.

Professor Boq's office was virtually wallpapered with photographs. Everywhere Qrow's barely-open eye looked, people were looking back. He was not with it enough to try and recognize them, but he could tell that it was different people from photo to photo, and almost everyone was beaming.

"Good morning," was the sprightly, oddly high-pitched voice from behind the desk. Qrow's eye lazily wandered to the speaker. Professor Gilden Boq stood up from his chair, stepped on to his desk, and walked forward to extend a hand towards Qrow.

Even standing on his desk brought him only up to Qrow's chin.

For the first time that morning, Qrow opened both his eyes. He needed them to take in Signal's headmaster. Boq was very short; even Ruby would have towered over him if both were standing on the ground. He didn't have perfect proportions, either, with his arms seeming longer and thicker than belonged on that frame. His features were shrewd, with slightly damp eyes and a scrupulously trimmed mustache. He wore what was surely a custom-tailored suit that fit him immaculately.

Even if Qrow hadn't known Boq was a combat school headmaster, he would have known not to take him lightly. His instincts were good at figuring out who might be trouble. Nothing about Boq seemed threatening, but Qrow knew he was far from harmless.

This evaluation took long enough that Qrow felt it get awkward. He belatedly pushed his hand out to accept the shake. Surprisingly, Boq's hand was almost as large as Qrow's; there was no oddness to the headmaster's firm shake. "Morning, Professor Boq. I'm glad to finally meet you."

"Finally?" said Boq, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah," said Qrow. "I'd heard of you. I hear about most people, you know? Just never…" he paused, and released the handshake as he tried to gather himself. "Sorry. I'm not really a morning person."

"You do know we start school early each morning?" said Boq.

"I'm coming around to the idea," said Qrow grudgingly.

As Qrow watched, Boq's face scrunched up. "Are you hungover?"

"Worse. I'm sober." Qrow put a hand over his face and rubbed strongly. "Hungover would be an improvement."

The words did not appear to put Boq at ease.

"Let's try this again," said Qrow. "I'm here to talk about the staffing problems. The name's Qrow Branwen."

Boq's eyes popped open. "You're Qrow Branwen," he repeated disbelievingly.

"In the flesh," said Qrow. "I'm guessing you've heard of me."

"From different sources," said Boq, giving Qrow an additional once-over. Qrow thought, too late, that he'd forgotten to shave again. And when was the last time he'd washed his shirt?

 _If you have to ask the question, it's been too long._ Taiyang's voice. Missed your chance, Qrow thought back resentfully.

"Well, what kind of sources?" Qrow asked.

Boq met Qrow's eyes again. "Travelers who have business with the school, mostly. The managers of the mission boards. Professor Ozpin."

Qrow nodded. "Yeah, I suppose you'd chat a lot with ol' Oz, wouldn't you? Your school's a feeder for his."

Boq's eyebrows came so close together they nearly merged. Qrow being on such casual terms with Ozpin was new information, apparently. "Signal is a feeder for all the Academies. Students from any combat school can go to any Academy. You do know that, right?" said Boq.

"I know that. Though I skipped combat school, myself. Tested out of it and went straight into Beacon." It was more-or-less true. Growing up a bandit had substituted for combat school well enough, though he'd been way behind in every book course.

"You're right that we talk, though," Boq granted graciously. "The Academy and combat school headmasters talk often. We're colleagues. Fellow educators. And we're all knowledgeable about the things that go on in our never-ending war with the grimm."

Qrow's eyebrows raised. "'The things that go on'? Sounds like you've heard some crazy stories. Course, I know better than most that even the craziest stories have some truth to them."

It was an opening, if Boq recognized it. If Boq was really in the know—if he knew more of the truth than your average Huntsman—he'd see the invitation to work towards the question. _What's your favorite fairy tale?_

But he didn't. Instead he nodded his agreement. "Even the craziest ones, yes. Why, I heard a story just the other day about how a cape-wearing scythe-wielder single-handedly saved a convoy from a pride of Manticores."

Qrow smiled. "That was a pretty hard fight."

"Or how a bandit group in Vale got into a shootout with a White Fang cell, and when the survivors were arrested, they all reported a red-eyed man laughing at them the whole time."

Qrow looked up. "Not my most professional moment, I'll admit. The plan worked like a charm, though. Bagged both groups, no police or Huntsmen casualties at all."

"Or how a drunken Huntsman saved a small Mistralian village from a grimm attack… but only after causing the ruckus that attracted the grimm in the first place."

Qrow's smile became fixed.

"Or how a Huntsman with ugly rings on his fingers is now the subject of paternity suits from three separate Vacuo innkeepers."

"Hey, you know as well as I do that the Vacuo legal system is broken as hell," said Qrow, losing his composure. "Those innkeepers could have filed those suits against my niece and a Vacuo judge would still schedule a hearing."

Boq gave Qrow an exasperated look.

"And my rings aren't ugly," Qrow added sullenly.

"Why are you here, Qrow?" said Boq. "Do you even want to teach?"

"Well, no," said Qrow. "And you shouldn't want me to, either. Frankly, you'd be an idiot to put me around a bunch of kids."

"Then I'm not letting you teach," Boq said flatly.

Qrow blinked. "Huh?"

"I'm not letting you teach," Boq repeated, with the voice of someone who hates repeating himself. "Good day."

"But… wait, you can't just turn me away like that," Qrow protested.

"Can't I? I'm headmaster. It's literally my job."

"No," said Qrow, frowning, "it's your job to field a faculty that can teach your kids. Because the kids need all the help they can get!"

"Yes, and I will gladly get on with helping them once you're out of my office."

"They need a lot more than just you," Qrow said, bad temper rising. "You know how it is, you've been out there. You spent years working the Vale-Vacuo trade routes. That's one of the nastiest beats there is. You've seen the horrors this world can throw at us."

Agitated, Qrow patted at his chest, but he knew his flask was empty. It couldn't help him. He started pacing instead. "They're bad, and it's getting worse. We're being run ragged. The last great attempt at expansion went tits-up—but you know that, you were part of the team that did the Mountain Glenn postmortem—and since then it's been all we can do just to hang on. Every day it gets a little harder, a little darker."

He stopped, scowled. "And it's so hard because there aren't enough of us, and the new Huntsmen we get aren't good enough. I saw your paper on mortality rates for Huntsmen of different experience levels. You did a really good job with that, it's why I spent the rest of that night getting wasted trying to forget I read it."

He ran a hand through his hair, through the dirt that had accumulated there that he'd neglected to wash out. "And when you know that, it eats at you. You find yourself thinking, that mission's gonna suck, but maybe if I take it, then some wet-behind-the-ears whippersnapper won't have to, and maybe they'll live another day until they are ready for it… and then you think, well, if only that whippersnapper knew what he was supposed to be doing in the first place, if they weren't just lambs waiting to be slaughtered, then they'd actually benefit from taking the mission, but you can't trust that, you don't…"

For a moment he paused. Everything was getting jumbled up. The words kept coming, though, and he was helpless to stop them.

"And then you think, if only we could graduate a few more Huntsmen a year, if the ones we got were a little better, just a few percentage points here and there, then we'd have more Huntsmen survive, and more missions getting done by capable Huntsmen, and fewer missions falling off the board because it's too late, and it occurs to you that even a little bit of a better education for these kids would create this damn _bow wave_ of people not dying…

"And then you realize, you sonofabitch, that's a stupidly impersonal way to think about it, we're not talking percentages of populations, we're talking about real live Huntsmen, we're talking people, you know, people you worked with, people you trained with and laughed with and cried with and got plastered with, and if there were a few more of them who could swing a little harder and shoot a little straighter, how much more happiness, how much better… how…"

His thoughts were a train wreck now, none of them in their assigned lanes, all piled up and toppled over and on fire. He shifted uncomfortably, aware that he'd been rambling.

Boq's eyes were wide.

Qrow couldn't bear to look at Boq, didn't even want to feel his gaze. He turned towards the wall, towards one of the murals made of photographs, and he idly wondered how many of the people in those photos were still alive.

Qrow only had one photo, himself, tucked safely in his wallet. He didn't have to wonder about the fate of the people in it. He knew. He knew, and was acutely aware of how sober he was.

Slowly, he took a breath, and tried to sort things back to how they should be. Think like a Huntsman, dammit. "What I'm saying," he began, then snorted. "What I think I'm saying anyway… is that this is too important. I'm here. You need me. They need me."

It took all he had to turn back towards the headmaster. "So, yeah," he said clunkily. "Let's get started."

Boq blinked. "I thought you said I'd be an idiot to let you be around a bunch of kids."

"Well…" said Qrow sheepishly, "the world's pretty messed up. Maybe you'd have to be an idiot to do the right thing."

Boq laughed gently. "Were you hoping I would talk you out of it?"

"Maybe?" said Qrow, eyebrows up. "But if I was, I screwed it all up. Went and talked myself into it instead."

"Hm." Boq took a step backwards and crossed his arms. "Are you always like this?"

"Which part?"

Boq tapped his arm with a finger. "I have to say, you're essentially what Professor Ozpin warned me to expect. Just… more, in every way."

Qrow almost chuckled. "That sounds about right."

"Well." Boq put his hands behind his back and started rocking back and forth. "There will need to be rules."

Qrow cocked his head like his namesake. "'Scuse me?"

"Rules," Boq repeated. "Things you will need to agree to and follow if you are to teach here."

For several seconds, Qrow could do nothing but blink. "Oh. Uh… sure. What did you have in mind?"

"No alcohol on the grounds, and no drinking before you're scheduled to teach," Boq said crisply. "No flirting with the faculty."

Qrow had expected those. He shrugged.

"You will limit how much cynicism and despair you put in your lessons," Boq went on.

"I make no promises there."

"Then I make no promises about how long you may stay. In the same vein, you will understand that sarcasm is not a teaching tool."

That one would be harder to follow. "I gotcha," he managed.

"Now, your nieces attend this school, correct?"

"That's right," said Qrow proudly. "They doing alright?"

"It depends. Are you fishing for compliments?"

"Maybe," Qrow said with dignity.

"They are exceptional," Boq granted. "Their acceptance to a Huntsman Academy in one and three years respectively is, I would say, a given. Which is why we will schedule you away from them when at all possible."

"What?" spluttered Qrow.

"They don't need the help," said Boq brusquely. "And if they ever do, you can give them that help on your own time. The teachers in this school are responsible for all of our students, not just the ones that share our blood. I would say there are plenty of students here who need your guidance more than those two… thoroughbreds."

Qrow huffed. "That's a very delicate way to put it."

"Tact is useful when dealing with annoyed and upset parents," said Boq. "Especially for a school like this, where accidents and injuries are a fact of life."

The last phrase made Qrow's eye twitch. His hand started to move up towards his chest again, but his flask was still empty. Oh, and he'd just agreed to no alcohol on the grounds.

Boq did not miss Qrow's tic. "Can you make it through a school day without drinking?"

"What? Pfft, of course I can. Really. No problem."

Boq regarded him steadily.

Qrow knew he'd been protesting too much. "I'll do my best."

Boq let him hang for several more seconds before giving a sharp nod. "I'm sure. One more rule, then."

"Yeah?"

"There are plenty of people who want very much to harm you," Boq said. "Whether for personal reasons, or because those with personal reasons have incentivized it."

Qrow shrugged. "Comes with the territory. It doesn't pay to be too good at this job."

"Well, it seems likely that some of these unsavory types might come to collect while you're in my employ. If they do, I require your solemn promise…"

"To clear out and take care of it elsewhere," said Qrow, skipping ahead.

"What? Dear me, no!"

Qrow blinked. "Huh?"

"I demand that any such grudge matches occur on school grounds, preferably where everyone can see," said Boq. "Can you think of a better teachable moment? An impromptu exhibition of high-level combat would do our students a lot of good! Not to mention alerting our students to the consequences of too much dilly-dallying."

Heavy blinks. Qrow heard the words, he even grasped their meaning, but they made no sense. "Really?"

" _Of course_ not really," said Boq, eyes twinkling. "Clear out and take care of it elsewhere."

Qrow's eyes drifted shut. "You have some sense of humor."

"I like to think it's more refined than puns," said Boq pointedly.

Qrow chuckled. "Taiyang may be family, but some of his jokes… Did you know Yang goes for those, too?"

"I can imagine," Boq sympathized. "I haven't been on the receiving end, yet. Maybe she has some speck of respect for authority still."

"That won't last."

"If it lasts another year, then it can be someone else's problem."

"So…" said Qrow, scratching his head again. "I guess that means I got the job?"

"It means you're on probation," Boq specified. "Nothing personal, except for the part that is. All new teachers start off that way—as a sort of breaking-in period—and I think you need that status more than most."

Qrow nodded. "That's fair."

"Pending paperwork, of course," Boq continued. "You can start that process outside, with Ms. Sallow. Then you'll need to get with our curriculum coordinator, Mr. Kijani. He's been pulling his hair out the past month or two."

"I imagine."

"You'll make his job…" Boq looked as if he'd been about to say 'easier' before thinking better of it. "…doable."

"The best we can hope for, most days," agreed Qrow.

"Very well." Boq extended his hand again. "Welcome to the faculty of Signal Combat School, Mr. Branwen, for as long or as short as your stay might be."

Even as Qrow accepted the shake, his thoughts went in their typically morbid direction. He couldn't help himself. "What's the record?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"What's the shortest tenure Signal's had for an instructor?"

Boq broke the shake. "I'm not telling you. I don't want you to think of that as a goal."

"Fine," said Qrow. "But tell me when I leave, okay?"

Boq sighed. "You do love notoriety."

"Nah, I just want to know about it when I earn it." He gave a sort of salute. "We'll see how much I pile up while I'm here."

* * *

_To be continued..._


	3. Serenity and Dread

Mr. Kijani was the sort of man who might have been imposing if he weren't in a perpetual state of low-key panic. A large, bald, dark-skinned man with wild eyes, he was rendered rather less threatening when he was bogged down in concerns like…

"Atlas Academy increased their required marksmanship scores _again_ , which is ridiculous, Atlas over-relies on guns as it is, they're all taking their cues from General Ironwood and his pistol fetish. Now we have to increase the Marksmanship component of _our_ curriculum to make sure our students meet _their_ stupid standards, and that means building in not just more hours of instruction but all the hours of weapons maintenance that go with them, with pass-along effects down the whole curriculum because every hour those students spend cleaning weapons is an hour they're not learning something else…"

Qrow shrugged. "Isn't weapons maintenance a required course anyway? Couldn't you just give the students credit for that course?"

Kijani's face toggled between appreciation and annoyance. "Yes of course, weapons maintenance is part of the Armaments syllabus, but there are other things they have to learn in that class, and now we've got to tie the Armaments and Marksmanship classes even more tightly than they already are, which means…"

"Alright, alright, sorry I asked," said Qrow, raising his hands in surrender. "I'm just here to ask how I can help."

"I could ask you the same." Kijani leaned back and brushed his hand down his green, button-up shirt. "What are you good at? Do you have any specialties?"

"Uh…" said Qrow, trying to buy time. He hadn't intended to become a teacher, so he'd never thought about what he would teach. "Can I see the course catalog?"

Kijani reached into one of the vertical cabinets nearby, grabbed a paper, and handed it to Qrow. Qrow's eyes scanned it critically.

_Armaments? I'd eat that up, but the last thing these kids need is my semblance nearby when they're trying to put sharp and explosive objects together._

_Materials and Metallurgy? Only if I'm teaching the classroom part. I made Ruby and Yang prove they knew the rules backwards and forwards before I'd let them in the forge with me. No way these randos are up to that standard._

_Combat? Better not risk it. Too much can go wrong. Ditto for Marksmanship._

_Aura, Tracking, and Survival are the only practicals I can safely do, I think. No problem with their classroom portions either._

_History? Maybe. I know more about the kingdoms' recent history than their ancient history. Could be fun._

_Math, Grimm Studies, Logistics… now we're talking._

Qrow grabbed a pen from a basket of them Kijani had on his desk. He circled all the classroom lessons and the Aura, Tracking, and Survival practicals. Kijani looked down the form, frowning. "You a doctor?" he asked.

Qrow was taken aback. "What'd make you say that?"

"The all-classroom route reminds me of Doctor Oobleck up at Beacon," said Kijani. "He doesn't do a single practical lesson, other than supervising missions now and then. Weird, given how hyper-caffeinated he is, and how he's a high-caliber Huntsman in his own right."

Qrow grunted in lieu of speech.

"It would be nice if you could support more of the practicals," Kijani continued. "That's what's really killing me. I suppose I can make some ends meet if I throw you around to free up the second teacher, but this'll be tricky…"

"The second teacher?" Qrow repeated.

Kijani blinked. "Yes, of course. Most of these practicals have two instructors. One provides most of the hands-on instruction, while the other is a safety supervisor."

Qrow's too-sober mind tried to imagine him as a safety supervisor.

It broke.

"Or, in some cases," Kijani went on, not noticing Qrow's tilt, "like for the Marksmanship practicals, the second instructor operates the range."

Qrow blinked hard. "Sorry, what? I zoned out for a second, couldja say that again?"

"For some of these, the second instructor operates the range," repeated Kijani with a touch of concern.

That made Qrow relax fractionally. "I can run ranges, no problem," he said.

"That does help." Kijani made a few notes of his own on top of Qrow's. "But you don't want to do hands-on teaching for these other practicals?"

"Nope."

"Why not?" Kijani pressed.

"Because my semblance would kill or maim half the class inside of a year," Qrow didn't actually say. He just thought it really hard. What he said was, "Most of my fighting style's instinctive, intuitive. It's not really a style at all. It's hard as hell to learn and impossible to teach. Trust me, no one comes to me to learn the basics, or how to do things the right way."

It was a good lie, he thought. At least half of it was true.

"Alright," said Kijani, and though he didn't sound convinced he let it go. He took the sheet over towards others like it. "I think I'll use you as a shared resource…"

"I've always thought of myself as a 'resource'," Qrow said drily.

"…patching up the holes in the different departments, freeing up other teachers to concentrate on the combat courses… You won't have much chance to get close to the students."

"Perfect," said Qrow.

Kijani shot him a questioning look. When Qrow didn't elaborate, he went on. "There are a few classes I'll need you on all the time. Which means you can't just do what a sub does and skate by on busy-work, you need to know the lesson plans and be able to teach to them."

That drew a sigh from Qrow. "Are you saying that if I want to teach I have to go back to school?"

"I'm saying…" said Kijani, reaching down and hauling up one, two, three boxes overflowing with binders and loose-leaf paper, "…you should probably start reading through the lesson plans for the first week of History I, Math II, and Logistics II. Those start on Monday. When you get to work on Monday, I'll give you the materials for Grimm III and the classroom part of Armaments I. You'll need to read those overnight to be ready to teach on Tuesday."

He saw Qrow's stricken look and, for the first time, smiled. "Have fun."

* * *

"What, did you think we just ad-libbed everything?"

Qrow gave Taiyang a stink face. "No, I knew you didn't, I just…"

"…thought you might?"

"I don't know what I thought, okay?" said Qrow petulantly. "I never thought that far ahead. I didn't think I'd need to. Boq was supposed to say 'no'."

Taiyang let his smile spread across his face. "How dare he give you the job you wanted."

"I didn't want it," said Qrow, starting to pace. "This wasn't my idea, it was the girls', because they had this fantasy that I'd be their teacher. Well, guess what? I just got told I'm not allowed to teach 'em. They'll be scheduling me away from the girls as much as possible. So much for that dream!"

He descended to mumbling for a moment. Taiyang looked at the boxes Qrow (complaining bitterly) had dumped in the room. "History I, huh? Woof."

Qrow shrugged at it. "What's so bad about it?"

"No one likes history, because it's _old news_."

A groan was the only proper response. "Dammit, Tai."

"It's the most-hated course in school," Tai said, marginally more serious. "History is the only course with no practical, in a school that's all about practicals, with a student body that's entirely here for the practicals. We always say the real job of History I isn't to teach history, it's to convince the students it's worth the time to study history. It works about as well as concrete running shoes. It's a slog."

"Just my luck," Qrow muttered.

"No luck involved," Taiyang countered. "Every teacher with even the slightest seniority tries to get out of teaching History I, which is why every new teacher gets stuck with it." He gave Qrow a look so pointed it was practically a sword.

"Whatever," said Qrow. He turned his back and stalked for the door, his characteristic hunch as pronounced as ever.

"Hey, you can't just dump your course materials on me!"

"I'm too achy to carry them. Just got off mission, remember? I'm sure it's no problem for you."

"Where are you going?" Taiyang called after him.

"Where do you think I'm going?" was the insolent reply.

"It's not even lunchtime!" said Taiyang. "Even the restaurant bars aren't open yet!"

Qrow flinched. "I'll figure something out. See you at the house."

Taiyang's next protest died on his lips. What was the point? It'd never hit its target. "Well, don't bring any home. You know…"

"I know the house rules, Tai," was the snarl he got back. The door slammed.

Tai sighed. "Of course you do."

* * *

Any place can be a bar if you try hard enough.

"…an' I said, Why's that gotta be a house rule? An' he said, We wan' a domestic envir'n'mnt, righ'? We gotta control what's goin' in our bodies, a' least a little. An' we wanna set a good example for the kids, righ'? 'Course, he didn' know the second kid was coming, that was later, but we had a pretty good idea kid number one was in our future. But tha's not important. The point… the point? Oh, yeah. The point is now we've got this stupid rule abou' chemicals an' stuff comin' in the house. He doesn' even allow freakin' _medicine_ through the door. Least, no medicine tha's not, like, something he saw planted, an' was hand-harvested by a genuine shaman, or some crap like that… 'S why I have to do my drinking elsewhere, y'know? I mean, I did talk 'em into letting me bring my flask in the house, but I don't use the flask to _get_ drunk, I jus' use it to _stay_ drunk…"

Qrow raised the glass in his left hand and brought it towards his lips before noticing, sluggishly, that it was empty. He sighed. "Bartender! Gimme another."

"Sir, this is a bookstore."

"Then bring me a book on fermentation, smartass."

* * *

He wanted to go on a walk, but it hurt, even dosed up with non-Taiyang-approved painkillers and a normal-for-Qrow blood alcohol content.

He wanted to go on a flight, but everything about going on a walk applied to that idea too. He'd almost died drunk-flying too often to do so casually.

He wanted to go back to Taiyang's, but that would mean facing the girls alone, and answering questions about how his interview had gone, and none of that sounded fun.

Qrow Branwen wanted a lot of things. "Hang out at the docks" hadn't been on the list. It was funny, how things worked out.

Even there, Qrow never stopped being a Huntsman, never stopped thinking like one. The habits were too ingrained by now. So he noted that the turrets surrounding the dock were the biggest anywhere on Patch, no doubt because the port offered the easiest access for seaborne grimm. He watched some cargo loading/unloading and made a game out of guessing the contents of the containers. He was keenly aware of the nearby restaurant/bar, and its potential as a place to go later if he needed… information.

He tapped the bottle in his hand. Even after using it to refill his flask and stave off sobriety, there was a fair amount left. He couldn't take it back to Taiyang's, so he'd have to stay out long enough to kill it… and ensure he wasn't too too drunk for the girls.

He felt the restlessness rising up again. He doused it with alcohol.

Better.

Not really.

He watched the large ship at the dock preparing to cast off. It didn't seem to be carrying much, but that made sense for what Qrow understood of the local economy. Patch's trade deficit was enormous. Its biggest industries were Signal and fish, and Signal didn't export physical goods, per se.

Signal… the school where Qrow, apparently, taught now.

Who let that happen?

Restlessness again. Dammit. Kill it with booze.

…didn't work.

He hadn't taught a single class and he was already done with this job, if it made him feel like this.

He brought out his scroll, looked at it as if it held answers for him. He took a long breath. Put it back down. There was a call he needed to make, sooner or later. Might as well be later.

The late summer sun was bright. The waves crashed with a steady, comfortable rhythm. He was warm and loose and comfortably buzzed, his aches were starting to get better, his headache was an astonishingly low three out of ten ("conversation with an Atlas border patrol"). Close by was friendly room and board and a house full of people who (foolishly) didn't hate him. His near future was full of work that would probably not kill him. If he were to look at his life from the outside, he'd have to say things were going pretty well.

He chuckled. Oh, so _that_ was it.

He was so used to being Qrow that he took any hint of things looking up as the cue for the universe to smite him. Nice things just meant the next shoe to drop would be that much bigger.

Time for his favorite parlor game, then.

He looked over the turrets. There were half-a-dozen smaller, rapid-fire weapons to form a perimeter, and two much larger naval-grade cannon with an effective range measured in miles. A direct hit from the big ones would reduce a Griffon to a fine mist and inconvenience even the largest seaborne grimm. They looked well-maintained, not much room for misfortune there. They probably wouldn't fail unless they were actually needed, in which case they'd fail at the worst possible moment. Ah, but the ship… ships were hard to judge from a distance. No way to know, just from looking at it, how well it was maintained. Still, ships were complex things. So many opportunities for things to not work right.

He cocked his head to the side to take in the bar. "The Red Buoy", huh? That probably meant more to a professional mariner than it did to Qrow. Names aside, it looked pretty nice. It probably did a brisk business based on its location alone, so it didn't need to look nice… but the owners made sure it did anyway. They probably took good care of it.

He almost wanted to stay away from it for that reason. He'd made a habit of frequenting the other two bars on Patch, the ones that catered to locals, and somehow he hadn't been banned from them yet (despite the damage that followed him), so he hadn't had business with the bar-for-transients. Maybe he should keep it that way… if he hadn't already drawn it under his influence.

So, he thought idly, where would misfortune strike? The turrets, the ship, or the bar? The ship had the most potential, but he was closest to the Red Buoy.

He rarely guessed right when he played this game. There were so many things that _could_ go wrong in the world, and so many things that _did_ ; guessing exactly what _would_ was almost impossible. He could try, though.

When was the last time a Leviathan was spotted in these waters? That was a fun thought.

He whiled away the hours, working his way down the bottle, watching the ships, and letting serenity and dread battle their way through his soul.

* * *

It was late when he came back, almost night. He supposed he should have returned earlier. Well… another time, maybe.

'Another time'? As in, he'd be able to come back here again? How novel.

He almost expected the doorknob to come off when he turned it.

"Oh, there you are!"

Ruby launched herself at him when he came in the door. He did his best to catch her, but his balance wasn't all there; her energy carried them both into the door as it shut.

"Ow," he said by way of greeting.

She smiled up at him, but her nose wrinkled almost immediately. "You smell funny, Uncle Qrow."

"It's a new aftershave," Qrow bluffed.

"But you didn't shave," she said, not fooled at all.

"Guess it's not working," said Qrow.

Ruby frowned at him, like she thought he was joking and had missed the punchline. He cleared his throat nervously and pushed off from the wall. "Hey there, Firecracker, Tai."

Tai raised a plate. "We saved you some. I had to stave off these two for it, so I hope you appreciate it."

"I already do, it smells great," said Qrow.

"You're just saying that because you've been living off of survival rations for… how long?"

"Six weeks. They were old after the first. By the fifth I was half-convinced I'd rather starve." Qrow ambled to the table and slid into a chair. Yang's expression was unreadable; Taiyang's was tiredly tolerant. Only Ruby, reappearing almost instantly in her proper chair, still seemed enthusiastic. Qrow was able to shut them out for a moment while he took his first few bites, and the others at the table made minor conversation, but the air was thick with… something.

"So," Taiyang said at last, looking meaningfully at Qrow, "you want to talk to the girls about anything?"

"Sure," said Qrow. "Sure… uh… did you notice that the defense turrets at the port got upgraded? That had to have been in the last two months, right?"

Taiyang glared at him, but it was Ruby who spoke. "Sorta."

"How do you 'sorta' notice something?" said Qrow, curious.

Ruby rolled her eyes. "I mean it's sorta an upgrade," she clarified. "They upped the caliber of the guns, but that added a lot of extra weight, and they didn't upgrade the mounts. The mounts are only rated for so much weight or they can't move the guns right, and they busted that rating. To make up for it, they shortened the barrels of the guns. In the end they added stopping power, but they traded it for accuracy, especially at long range."

Qrow chuckled. At least there was one person in the house who appreciated weaponry as much as he did. "Well, maybe they should have consulted you first."

Her silver eyes brightened. "Do you think they would?"

"Have a chat with them after you graduate," he said, amused. He felt more than saw Taiyang's scowl at putting ideas in Ruby's head; his smile widened. "Anyway, I don't think it was an oversight. I think it was a trade-off. There's never enough money for everything. Maybe upgrading the mounts is next. Then they can go back to the longer barrels."

"Which'll be really comforting if we get a major grimm attack in the meantime," Ruby huffed.

Yang reached over and mussed her sister's hair. "Maybe they'll have to call out the student body if it gets that bad. Might be fun to get some serious action, eh?"

"They'd only call out the upperclassmen," Ruby said sullenly.

"We'd only call out the _faculty_ ," Taiyang corrected. "We're not going to send students to counter an invasion. You're the future. You're what we're trying to protect. In an emergency like that, we'd shelter the students inside Signal's perimeter, and deploy the teachers and staff." No one could have missed the significant look he shot at Qrow.

The girls certainly didn't. Their eyes went back and forth between Taiyang and Qrow, back and forth, before Yang stood up from her chair and shouted, "No. Way!"

"You did it?" said Ruby, not far behind her. "You actually did it?!"

Qrow sighed. "Looks like. Say hi to the newest teacher at Signal Academy."

He was helpless to defend himself from the hugs that followed and that sapped his very limited aura. "Hey, hey!" he called from underneath their embrace. "I'm just on probation, alright? I'm not a real teacher."

"Real enough to teach," Yang shot back.

"Sounds real to me," Ruby agreed.

"I don't know how much realer it gets," Yang added.

Qrow shot a look of despair at Taiyang. Taiyang communicated, without a single word, the notion of "You made your bed, now lay in it."

Which was when the girls finally overburdened the chair, not unlike a turret too heavy for its mount. The chair tipped backwards and sent all three of them tumbling to the floor. This misfortune, Qrow thought in the heartbeat before impact, was one he should have seen coming.

* * *

He should have seen this coming.

He'd seen it before, from time to time. Years ago. He hadn't realized it was still happening. Damn his absenteeism. Damn him for not being there for his team.

Taiyang was sitting in a well-worn easy chair, not too far from the couch where Qrow slept. Taiyang's body was slack. His eyes were unfocused. If not for the too-slow rise and fall of his chest, he might have been mistaken for a corpse. Zwei was stretched across Taiyang's unmoving feet, eyes wide with anxiety, and occasionally offering a pitiful whine.

Qrow shook his hand in front of Taiyang's eyes. The blonde didn't blink, let alone respond. Taiyang's body was there, but nobody was in it.

It left Qrow at a loss. He'd never known what to do with Taiyang when this happened. He could barely hold himself together, how was he supposed to take care of Tai?

As if to demonstrate that Qrow's semblance was still active, Ruby and Yang chose that moment to come in through the front door. "Heya," said Yang, flushed and sweaty from what had to be a morning workout.

"Uh… hi," said Qrow, his brain locking up. He tried to shuffle in front of Taiyang so the girls wouldn't see him. "What were you… I mean, obviously you were exercising… are you done?"

"Yeah, that's why we came in," said Yang, and Qrow could hear the suspicion in her voice.

"Oh, well, that's good," said Qrow. "I'm… guessing you'll wanna go up and shower then? Well, don't let me keep you…"

"Dad shut down again, didn't he?"

It was Ruby's voice. It could be quite small, sometimes. She seemed even smaller when that was all the sound she could make. Qrow felt like his heart had dropped out of his chest, to hear and see her like that.

But her face was leaning around Yang and she had a clear line of sight to Taiyang and Zwei, so denial was pointless. Qrow shrugged helplessly. "Looks like."

Ruby's face dipped sadly; Yang's turned to stone. "Alright," the elder sister said, "you go shower and clean up, Rubes. I'll start on breakfast. When you get out we'll eat, then you can start on the cookies."

The last part made Ruby perk up a little bit, and she went for the stairs. Yang gave Qrow a defiant look, as if daring him to challenge her. Instead, he asked, "Cookies?"

Yang's face softened fractionally. "The smell of them starts him back up, sometimes. Not all the time. But we always try it. It can't hurt." She managed a sort of a smile. "Even when it doesn't work, there's no waste. Ruby can kill a whole batch of cookies by herself."

"No doubts there," Qrow said—he'd been by often enough to remember that fact about the young Rose. "The smell of cookies… Summer used to love baking cookies, you know."

"We know," said Yang roughly, moving for the kitchen. "We use her recipe. We think that's why it works. When he's stuck in that other time, you need something from that other time to reach him."

 _That other time._ Such definite language, like there could be only one "other time" anyone would refer to. With Taiyang, though… Qrow knew what it meant. The days of Team STRQ, during Beacon and just after, when Taiyang was surrounded by love. The two women he'd loved, and who'd loved him back enough to make a family with him.

He sucked in a breath as mixed emotions swept through him. He didn't blame Taiyang for wanting to go back there. He'd been impossibly happy, happier than Qrow could ever imagine himself being. At the same time, he could blame Tai for abandoning his present, when his present was _also_ better than any Qrow could imagine for himself. It wasn't like Taiyang was alone now, not like there was any reason for him to be alone. He had the girls, and a solid life, and Qrow from time to time, and there was no reason he couldn't move on…

Ha, as if Qrow himself had really moved on. You don't "move on" from your twin sister. No one "moved on" from Summer Rose.

It was a tangle of unresolved emotions in Qrow's chest, like a nest of Taijitu. Every heartbeat snagged something that tore at him. He ached in a way that had nothing to do with his recent mission. He sympathized with and envied and was a brother to Taiyang, all at once, but he couldn't do a single solitary thing about any of it.

Qrow reached for his flask. Only after it was in his hand did his brain engage. He looked at it for a long moment. Uncapped it. Waved it beneath Taiyang's nose.

Taiyang's face twitched and his nose scrunched up. His eyes never came back into focus. Qrow waved it again. Taiyang didn't budge at all the second time.

Qrow straightened up with a sigh. It'd been worth a shot. Only then did he realize Yang was staring at him, her expression inscrutable. "Seeing if he responded to your 'aftershave'?" she said bitingly.

"It's a smell from that other time," Qrow said.

"It is?" she asked. He heard the many unspoken questions that accompanied the vocalized one.

"I started drinking early," explained Qrow. "Raven, too. Taiyang joined us… eh, on occasion. This wasn't his poison, but he must've smelled it on me dozens of times."

"I've never seen him drink," she said, voice carefully flat.

Qrow shrugged. "House rules," he said. "He changed. That's why it's a smell from that other time." He cracked a wry smile. "I can always try it. It can't hurt. Even when it doesn't work, there's no waste. I can kill a whole flask by myself."

Yang's eyes flashed to red. "That's not funny."

He raised the flask at her, as if saluting. "It wasn't a joke."

She stared at him, hard, searching. "That's you caring for dad, then?"

"The only way I know how," said Qrow, and he was surprised at how depressed those honest words made him.

He must have passed Yang's test. She nodded, and the heat receded from her eyes. Qrow was impressed. She didn't get that from Raven—Raven could nurse her anger for years. She'd held grudges longer than she'd held Yang. Dammit, now _his_ temper was rising.

"We can take care of ourselves," Yang said, more quietly now but without any waver. "Don't feel like you have to stay here. We'll be fine. This isn't…" Her eyes flicked over to Taiyang's unmoving form. "It's nothing new."

"Thanks for setting me free," he said, but with enough of a grin to take all the edge off the sarcasm. He hoped. "I'm not going far, though. I've got some review work to get done." He gestured vaguely at the three boxes of course material he was going to need to teach from alarmingly soon. "And I'm a fan of cookies too, you know."

Yang snorted, and finally started to look like herself again—the "herself" Qrow was used to, at least. "I'll see if I can talk Ruby into leaving survivors. No guarantees."

"Thanks," said Qrow. He reached down, lifted Zwei, and placed him in Taiyang's lap. The corgi, looking instantly relieved, made one circle and then curled up for the duration.

Yang turned and went further into the kitchen. "You wanna come help?"

Qrow laughed. "House rule number three, Firecracker. I'm not allowed in the kitchen. And I'm not allowed within ten feet while people are cooking." He grabbed the first box and headed for the door, ignoring Yang's uncomprehending look. Only then did he hear rapid-fire footsteps up the stairs and the shower turning on.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	4. First Day

"I'm not going, and you can't make me!"

"No one's making you do anything, Qrow," said Taiyang exasperatedly. "I'm just telling you I'm going now, because I figured you'd appreciate a ride."

"I'll go on my own schedule," Qrow grumped, attempting to roll over and go back to sleep.

"Fine," huffed Taiyang. "But the girls will be leaving in thirty minutes, and if you aren't out before them there's no way you'll be set up before school starts."

"I'll make it work," Qrow shouted.

"Suit yourself," said Taiyang, and he made a washing-his-hands gesture.

Qrow's return gesture only needed one finger.

Taiyang walked out, leaving Qrow on his own. This was fine. Qrow didn't need anyone's help to get to Signal. Not like he actually wanted to go, anyway. Qrow, despite himself, was dreading the start of his teaching stint. He wasn't cut out for this; he didn't do this. Oh, he _schooled_ people often enough, but that didn't count. The most teaching he ever did was to one or two people at a time. Now he had to be the expert on subjects he hadn't looked at in… ugh.

He needed a drink, but it was too late for that. Rules. House rules… but the flask exception… no, no, Boq's rules. No drinking before teaching. Who said he was teaching? Oh, right, he did, and as little as he looked forward to it, he couldn't bear the thought of just giving up on day zero.

He was going to make a hash of this, wasn't he?

Of course he was. That was what he did.

Might as well head there and get it over with, he supposed. He really should have taken Taiyang's offer. Whatever, he could still make it in plenty of time. He didn't need Tai to see him freaking out. He'd rest his eyes another minute or two, get up, grab a bite to eat, transform to a bird, and make it there before anyone was the wiser.

He frowned. All of that sounded great in his head, but an unsettled feeling was stalking through him. What was he forgetting?

He curled up, trying to rise, and groaned aloud. Come on, muscles, still? Still? If hangovers lasted this long, there'd be no incentive to ever be sober… He rolled instead, got his feet under him, and unsteadily made it to a sitting position. He spent a moment rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and massaging his temples to ease his headache, then opened his eyes properly for the first time.

And found himself staring at the three boxes of course materials he'd been studying.

Shit.

For something to transform with him when he went bird mode, it had to be either very close to the skin (like clothes) or carrying some of his aura (like Harbinger). Three boxes of course materials met neither criteria. They wouldn't be part of his transformation, and he sure as hell couldn't carry them as a bird.

Great. Now what?

He heard the engine to Taiyang's car fire up. _He hasn't left yet._

Panic gripped Qrow. He surged into motion, stowing Harbinger, grabbing the boxes, and launching himself out the front door. He had to catch Tai before he left, if Tai left without him he had no way to get there without walking and that would take too long for sure especially if he was carrying three boxes of course material…

Taiyang was standing beside his car, passenger door open. His expression was at once both expectant and annoyed. "Get in and shut up," he said.

Qrow silently vowed not to call Taiyang "Mr. Mom" for at least a week.

* * *

Nearly missing the start of his first day did nothing to tamp down Qrow's rising anxiety.

Which blew his mind. He was _Qrow Branwen_. He'd faced down more grimm at once than most people would see in their lives. He'd crossed blades with criminals, bandits, counter-Huntsmen, and all manner of undefined unsavories. He'd spoken truth to power in the highest halls of Remnant. He was on a first-name basis with some of the biggest movers and shakers on the planet.

All of that was as a Huntsman, he realized, not as a teacher. He knew how to be a Huntsman. What idiot thought he knew how to be a teacher?

As usual, Qrow knew that the root cause of all his problems was Qrow. Exhibit A: Qrow had forgotten to ask for a classroom layout, which meant he was having to hurry through the hallways, over and around and through the student body which (largely and embarrassingly) was far more familiar with the place than he was while searching for…

Okay, that had to be it—there was no room number, but he'd passed by here three times and he knew the numbers of the rooms all around, so this had to be the one. The classroom for Math II. He was just in time.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.

Dammit.

He shoved the door open, staggered towards the teacher's desk, and plopped his boxes down on it. Two students followed him in; he couldn't spare any thought for them. He took a moment to catch his breath, then looked up.

Twenty-odd teenagers looked back.

Qrow straightened up, patted his chest where he absolutely was not carrying his flask, and, when his brain refused to engage, managed to speak purely on instinct.

"Hi."

The class giggled at him.

_Oh come on, say something, say anything!_

"Sooo… did you hear about the time I was defeated by an innkeeper's skirt?"

_Anything but THAT, not that, these kids are—what, thirteen? Fourteen? Who even knows? That's not a story for them—abort! Abort!_

The class was giggling again, though some students were giving him looks of curiosity that were far worse.

He tried for a roguish grin. "Well, good, I wanna keep some of the mystery intact."

The giggling was replaced by laughter. _Smooth, real smooth._

"Let's take this from the top," said Qrow. He moved out from behind the desk; his hands found their way into his pockets without his brain getting in the way. "I'm a new teacher, starting this year. Hopefully I don't screw this up too badly." Nervous chuckles. "If you learn a thing or two, we'll call the year a success. This class is…" He looked back at his materials. "…Math II? Oh, you'd better learn something in this class, or the other teachers will kill me."

That drew more laughs. He raised an eyebrow at them. "What, you don't believe me?"

"How does math help us kill grimm?" said one of the bolder students.

"Yeah, aren't we better off using that time learning how to shoot?"

It was Qrow's turn to laugh. "Y'know," he said, "I've met a few people with that attitude. They thought the book-learning part of school was a big laugh. Threw all their effort into the combat training, 'cause they thought that was what they needed in the 'real world'." He shook his head, still smiling. "Yeah, turns out they weren't as prepared for the 'real world' as they thought."

There was no laughter now. There was no sound, for that matter.

"I already knew how to fight when I went to Beacon," Qrow went on, leaning against the board at the back of the room. "Half the reason I went was to get the book learning I'd never gotten anywhere else. I wasn't joking when I said the other teachers'd kill me if I did a bad job teaching you math. Think about your curriculum. What's Logistics? Like, really, what is it, when you get down to it?"

Several students murmured, but none of them spoke loud enough for Qrow to register an official answer.

"Logistics is math plus geography," he said, answering his own question. "Geography tells you what you need and where to put it, and math tells you how much you need and how to pay for it. And don't think that last part is some small thing, either. You want food when you're on-mission? Ammunition? A nice place to sleep? Get ready to figure out how to pay for all that on your own. You've got it easy here at school, where all that stuff is given to you out of the school's account. Huntsman—all adults, really—have to manage their own money. If you don't learn how to do it now, you'll be in a world of hurt later. How're you gonna kill grimm when your belly's empty and you're out of ammo?

"As for learning to shoot…" He shook his head in amused disbelief. "If you've never needed math to shoot, you've been taking some easy shots. I used to work with a woman who was the best shot I ever met, and part of her secret was she was a whiz with figures. You think it's all eyesight and instinct, but how do you get there? You figure out what's supposed to happen first, and you use that to train yourself, and you teach your eyes and you learn your instincts."

He had them, now. Every eye was on him. They were hanging on his words. Qrow felt gratified, all of a sudden. Time to go for the kill.

He drew Harbinger from his back. One jerk took it from stowed position to sword form. One click engaged the elaborate mechanisms that extended the handhold and hilt, segmented the blade, curved the segments, and left Qrow standing beside a scythe as tall as he was.

There was a collective intake of breath.

"You don't make a true Huntsman's weapon without doing a hell of a lot of math," he said. A slip of the tongue. Dammit. _Darn_ it.

It didn't seem to have ruined the moment, though. He wondered if the kids had forgotten how to blink.

At last, one of them spoke. "You're Qrow Branwen, aren't you?"

Qrow's eyebrows went up. He realized he hadn't actually introduced himself to that point. "Yeah," he said, by way of answering. "Yeah, I suppose I am."

"Qrow Branwen?" said another. " _The_ Qrow Branwen?"

That made Qrow hesitate. Years of caution won out. "Depends. Who's asking?"

Fifty eyes looked at Harbinger, the only scythe in use by a professional Huntsman anywhere on Remnant, and then back to Qrow. He not-at-all-self-consciously converted it back to sword form.

"I heard you saved the Menagerie ferry," said one of the students.

Qrow had to fight off a smile. "Well, the skipper of that ship is an old hand who knows his business, I just set him up."

"I heard you killed two Nevermores in the same fight," said another student. "Not Nevermore chicks," she added, looking around at her classmates to ensure they understood how impressive the feat was. "Full-grown Nevermores. _Old_ ones."

"Yeah, that one's true," Qrow allowed, and the smile emerged despite his best efforts.

"My brother told me you busted a crime syndicate in Mistral all by yourself," blurted another student.

"It's not that hard, honestly," said Qrow. "Get to the right neighborhood in Mistral and you can knock on any door and there's a fifty-fifty chance a crime syndicate's behind it." His smile became a smirk. "See? That's the power of math."

Some of the students laughed, but another cut through. "I heard you caused the landslide that cut off the village of Togusan."

Qrow winced. "Not… really," he said, which was both true and not. It wasn't like he'd been the bandit that forgot to put the safety pins in his own explosives, it wasn't like he'd set off the premature detonation that'd collapsed the mountainside. But he was present when those things happened. A lot of the time, that was enough.

"I heard you drank all the alcohol in the town of Jahiba in a single night," said another student.

"That's… well okay, that's true, but it's not what you think," said Qrow, over mounting laughter from the class. "They only had one barrel. It went quick."

"You drank a barrel of alcohol in one night?"

"Not by myself," specified Qrow. "I just did my share. I had plenty of help, believe me."

The smallest and youngest boy in class looked Qrow straight in the eye. "My momma says you destroyed our shed, and you still owe us for it."

Qrow's head drooped forward; he hid his face in his palm. "Great, now you made it awkward. Look, the point!" he said, trying to rally the class; he didn't think he could take any more of this interrogation. "The point is that I've been around the block a few times, and here I am teaching you, so if I tell you something's important, it's probably something that's saved my life at some point or other, okay? Even if I don't tell you the story."

He blinked as realization struck. He actually had a tremendous weapon here, didn't he? "No more stories for now," he said. "But if you all study, and do well enough in class… maybe I will share a few stories. Maybe I'll tell you the truth behind some of those stories you've heard. And I have a couple of stories I guarantee none of you have ever heard."

That got their attention. Qrow was struck at how quickly they went from talking amongst themselves to staring at him. He wondered if that would last.

It occurred to him he didn't know where to go from here.

"So," he said trying to buy time while he shuffled back to the teacher's desk and re-stowed Harbinger. "So. First day. I'm supposed to…" There was the paper he'd scrawled notes on, and references to lessons and handouts. "Oh. Just class policies and introductions the first day. No problem. We've talked about me already... one more thing, I guess. I'm not that formal. Call me 'Professor Branwen' and I'll just get sick to my stomach. 'Sir' is plenty. Let's see…"

He looked up again and tried to imagine what a teacher was supposed to talk about. "Uh… don't interrupt me when I'm talking. Wait." He frowned at himself. "What I meant was, don't have side conversations while I'm talking. You can interrupt if you have a question. Frankly, if one of you isn't following and needs me to explain, I've probably left half the class behind, and if you ask the question you're a hero to the class, so don't hesitate.

"No bathroom breaks during class, though."

Some students protested. Qrow was having none of it. "Hey, hey! You were so concerned with real life, weren't you? You think the grimm have never attacked someone while they were using the bathroom? If you haven't learned how to control those body functions, now is a grand old time to learn. You can control yourself for an hour at a time, or you'll learn how."

He smirked. "Had a friend of mine who waited in the same spot for two whole days, waiting for the perfect shot. Never got up, never made a motion, not until the job was done. You'll learn that sorta thing, one way or another."

"They didn't go to the bathroom for two days?" said one incredulous student.

"I didn't say she didn't go to the bathroom, I just said she didn't move," Qrow corrected playfully. That got a laugh. _Potty humor's a thing for this age-group, isn't it? Not my favorite, but something to remember._

"Attendance policy…" he went on. "Uh… don't be here after I am. Wait. Uh… if the bell's rung, I mean. I can't count you late if I'm not here. But don't count on that, since you don't know when I'll show up…"

He could see the students pondering the same question he was: _Did I just give them permission to be late if I'm late?_

He hurried on. "What other big topics do we have to cover?"

One of the students raised a hand. "Food and drink in class?"

"Clean up after yourselves," said Qrow with a shrug. "I like a drink, myself, while I'm doing whatever else I'm doing. We can't abuse the privilege, though." _You're so full of shit._ "Don't let it distract you," he added lamely.

The students nodded.

"Alright," he said. "I guess I'll spend the rest of class getting to know a little about you. I mean, I already know some about you. The whole 'been around the block' thing, you know?"

No one asked how, but he could see their incomprehension. He grinned. He could tell, by looking, which students were from Huntsman families, which were first-generation students being sponsored to the school, and which were from families of means. It was easy when you knew what to look for.

"In fact…" he grabbed a paper and started writing down a one, two, or three for each student. "I'm making some predictions on that now. If I'm wrong about your family, you get a one-time homework pass."

He only missed one, the small boy whose shed Qrow had apparently destroyed in the past, and whose mother had been a Huntress in her youth. Ah, well. Close enough. He wrote out a homework pass and presented it to the boy, whose name turned out to be Mel Cyan, and who did not look even slightly mollified.

Not a bad start, all things considered. When the class ended, he walked out of the classroom and almost trampled a member of the facilities staff.

"Morning," said the staffer. "You the new teacher, then?"

"Yeah, nice to meet you," said Qrow. "What's going on?"

"Darndest thing, but the sign with the room number came down," the staffer replied. "I've been trying to figure out how it happened. Probably some student tore it down out of sheer carelessness. I hope it didn't give you too much trouble when you were trying to find the place."

"A little," Qrow admitted, trying to disengage.

"And on your first class, too," said the staffer, in what he surely thought was a show of sympathy. "That's some luck."

Qrow grimaced. "Yeah. I was just thinking that."

Was this the worst school could throw at him, or was his semblance just getting warmed up?

* * *

He was better prepared for History I. He was there before the last of the students, even. Shortly after the bell rang, he pulled up a couple of chairs. He remembered Taiyang's dire warnings about students' opinions of this class, and he had a plan. "Alright, History I. I'm sure some of you are wondering why you're here. I can show you, but first, I'll need one of you to help me out in a little demo. Let's see…" He pointed at someone his instincts identified as needing some early deflation. "You. Come up here."

The student insolently dropped his belongings at a desk, then strolled up to Qrow. Qrow felt the eyes of the class on him. Good.

"What's your name, kid?" said Qrow, eying his victim... ahem, student.

"Aspro Andino," was the reply. Aspro was greyhound-lean and had a face so fresh he'd probably never shaved. Even so, he carried himself like monuments had been built in his honor. Well, Qrow would see to that.

"Pretend we're in Vacuo," Qrow said. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw two students in his class respond, shifting at the invocation. Interesting—something to keep in mind. "Not in the main kingdom, but out in the boonies. I'm a local leader of a tribe in the outlying wastes, and I've invited you here as my guest."

"Role-playing, sir?" said Aspro, a hint of ridicule in his tone.

"Training," Qrow corrected, his smirk growing. "A slow-speed walkthrough, like when you're practicing a new technique."

"Whatever you say," said Aspro, and he flopped down into the chair opposite Qrow.

Qrow very nearly laughed. This was going better than he'd hoped. "Welcome, guest," he said, spreading his arms expressively and pitching his voice into an accent. "Care for a drink?"

"Sure," said his student with an indifferent shrug.

Qrow handed him a glass of water and took one himself. Only then did he sit and drink; Aspro had already tossed back half the glass. "So," Qrow said, "how are you with dust?"

Aspro blinked in surprise, then shrugged. "Alright, I guess."

"Get a lot of practice in?" Qrow prodded.

"Sure. Materials is a required course, and the weapons I've used can carry dust rounds."

"So you've used a fair amount of the stuff."

"If you say so," said Aspro, and Qrow could almost see him trying to figure out where he was being led.

"Mostly from the Ess-Dee-Cee, I'm guessing?"

The student shrugged. "Probably. I don't pay much attention to it."

Qrow nodded. "It doesn't much matter to you, does it?"

"Not as long as it works."

"Gotcha." Qrow smiled at his own double-meaning, then raised his right hand into a fist and rotated it back and forth. One of the probably-Vacuoan students sucked in a breath.

Qrow's victim frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Well," said Qrow, leaning forward, "if I'm a Vacuo tribal leader, that's a typical signal to my tribe to kill you before you stand up."

There was a nervous titter of laughter from some students. The Vacuoan—and Qrow surmised at this point that he was from the wastes, while the other was from the main kingdom—was frowning severely. Aspro was looking suddenly nervous. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," said Qrow, his gaze intensifying. "You insulted me three times just now. I can't let you go; I'd lose too much face. In most parts of Vacuo, my number three tribesman is hitting you from behind…"

He smacked the desk; his victim started, head whipping around as if the attack was coming.

"…right now," Qrow finished. "Traditionally, the ambush weapon of choice is a garrote. It's a thin, strong wire that's looped around the throat. Aura can keep it from slicing deep, but that'll drain you dry right quick, and it's damn near impossible to get away once those suckers are latched on. If the tribe has a little more lien to throw around, they'll have a dust resin worked into the surface. Lightning's the favorite. It's no fun having electricity arcing around next to your brain box, you know?"

He leaned back; the student's face was ashen, but Qrow was having too much fun to stop. "Or, he might hit you with his…" he paused, looked at the kid from the Vacuo outlands. "Hey, you got your necris on you?"

The Vacuoan was taken aback but, after wavering, nodded.

"Show it off a second," Qrow said.

The student hesitated, then reached for his boot. To the other students' surprise, he drew, seemingly from nowhere, a broad knife with a gleaming, slightly curved point.

"Boot sheathes are pretty common," explained Qrow as the other students gawked. "Means you can draw the knife even when you're kneeling in submission. You see a lot of forearm sheathes, too. In the Vacuo wastes, the necris is a near-universal survival tool and self-defense weapon. And don't ask your buddy here to borrow it, you might as well ask to borrow his testicles."

He thought it was a pretty good joke, but there wasn't much laughter. The students' eyes kept going back and forth between Qrow and the knife, to the increasing discomfort of the Vacuoan. "You can put it away now," Qrow said, to the Vacuoan's relief. "As for you," he said, looking to Aspro, "if my number three didn't get you with a garrote, he'd be using that little toothpick to fill you with daylight. That sound like a good time to you?"

Aspro shook his head rapidly.

"Well, you'd better be careful how you talk out there in the world, huh?" said Qrow.

"I don't even know what I did," Aspro protested.

"You insulted me three times," Qrow repeated.

"When?"

Qrow smiled. "So. You're asking for a history lesson?"

The room was silent.

After several seconds, the student nodded. "I guess."

Qrow stretched backwards, satisfied with himself. He had them and he knew it. It felt good.

He held up his hand and started counting off his fingers. "First, you sat down before I did. The chief sets the tone for the tribe. When they work, the tribe works. When they relax, the tribe relaxes. They take the idea really seriously in places where survival is touch-and-go. So, when you relaxed before me, you told me you don't have to do what I do. You told me I'm not your leader. That's a no-no.

"Second, you accepted my offer of a drink."

Aspro blinked. "Was I not supposed to?"

"No, you weren't," said Qrow. "There's an unwritten rule in Vacuo. 'If you can survive here, then you're welcome here.' There are a lot of local traditions that hinge on that idea, but the drinking thing, that's everywhere, because… well, I don't know if any of you have looked at a map lately, but Vacuo's mostly desert.

"If I offer you a drink and you take it, you're telling me you need the water to survive. That means you don't belong here, doesn't it?"

He could see the students wrestling with the idea. "So… I just don't drink when I'm in Vacuo?" said the struggling student.

"No, you can accept after the first time, they're not idiots," Qrow explained. "You've just gotta show you don't need your host to survive. It's a little display, you know? Like a Beowolf growling and showing its teeth to let you know you're gonna die before it kills you. You refuse to show how hard you are, your host insists to show how generous _they_ are, and you accept to honor their generosity."

Qrow held up his third finger. "Last, you didn't insult the Schnee Dust Company when I gave you the chance."

Now most of the faces in the room showed bafflement. "Why was I supposed to do that?" said Aspro.

Qrow's smile was triumphant. "That's what you'll be learning in weeks six to eight."

Understanding blossomed across the class.

"Even if you don't care about history, other people do. And if they care, they can make it your problem. Might as well know what they're screaming about, I say.

"There are two ways to learn this sorta thing. One is to just blunder into places, do whatever you want, and then hope you survive the garrotes and necrises. The other is to know the rules before you play the game. That's the biggest reason you're here."

He looked across the class with satisfaction. If the goal of History I was to convince the students history was worth studying, he was pretty sure he'd made up some ground in that direction. "You can go back to your seat," he said to his victim, who swiftly obeyed.

A student raised her hand. "Sir? What's the rest? What's the other reason for studying history?"

"It helps you know who you are, and where you came from," Qrow replied. "Pretty sure you kids don't know this yet, but you will: Life's hard. It's hard to know what you're supposed to be doing. A lot of people find answers in what their parents and ancestors did. And not just in the "don't attack the faunus at night" sort of way, either. In the "we carry a grudge against the Ess-Dee-Cee" sorta way. But I bet a lot of you get that. Raise your hand if you're from a Huntsman family."

More than a third of the students' hands went up.

"I know not all of you are here because of that, but that's a pretty good example. Plenty of people find ideas for what to do in the future by looking to the past."

His mind slipped away from him at that. He thought about his own past. He could almost taste ashes. He could definitely hear screams.

"Not always positively, just so you know," he said, and even he could hear how flat his voice was. "Sometimes, the past tells you what not to do. Sometimes you look at where you came from, and you know, 'I can never let that happen again'."

He shook his head. The tang of burning metal was still in his nose. He felt the pull of the flask he wasn't carrying. "So that's the other reason," Qrow said. "It helps you figure out what to care about. That's the part I can't teach you. In this class we'll talk about stuff that happened. The caring part…" he shrugged. "That's up to you."

He took a deep breath to try and resettle himself. No noises from the students competed with him. "Sorry, I guess I wandered a bit there," he said. "It's kinda my thing, to be honest. Oh!" He smacked his own face. "That reminds me. I was supposed to introduce myself. I'm Qrow Branwen, and I'm your teacher for now."

The silence broke.

* * *

It was, Qrow decided on reflection, about as good of a first day as he could have hoped for.

He'd performed well for the students in his classes. Logistics II had been less dramatic than Math II and History I, but the students seemed to have learned to appreciate the subject already, so it was a smaller climb. He had to teach second sections of each class, but, having practiced with the first sections, those went much smoother. Misfortune had been kind, all things considered.

He'd learned most of the school layout in short order; he was a quick study on such things, partly from natural talent and partly from years of reconnaissance missions. That was why he was able to head back to the admin building where the teachers' offices were located, his three boxes of course material in tow. He was looking forward to when he had a system in place to only carry around what he needed for that day; he had some ideas in that regard.

Put it all together, and it was almost… okay. For the briefest moment, Qrow allowed himself to think that things just might work out.

"Ah, Professor Branwen! I was hoping you'd come by!"

There it was.

Qrow decided to feign deafness and kept walking. Kijani wasn't fooled. "Hold up there, Professor Branwen, I've got something for you."

Qrow ambled to a stop and turned. Kijani was leaning out of his office. "You've got something for me? Well, what proof is it?"

"Proof?" the curriculum manager said, puzzled. "All the proofs you teach in Math are already in your binders."

Qrow sighed as his half-joke, half-wish went over Kijani's head. "Whatcha got?"

"Don't move," said Kijani. He ducked back into his office, came out, and…

Thump. A fourth box landed atop the three, causing Qrow to sway unsteadily, before he threw more aura into his arms to hold the extra weight.

Thump. A fifth box landed atop the fourth, creating a pillar of boxes taller than Qrow. Qrow had to weave around as the pillar swayed above him.

"There're your course materials for Grimm III and Armaments I," Kijani said happily.

"More?" Qrow said, aghast.

"I told you it was coming," Kijani replied. "You didn't need it over the weekend because those two didn't start today, but they start tomorrow, which means you need to read up on them tonight. Oh, but don't forget, there's another section of History I tomorrow, but Math II and Logistics II double up on Wednesday, and…"

Qrow tried to brace the toppling tower against the wall, but that just knocked the top box sideways. It fell from the column with a splattering of papers and binders. Its fall meant Qrow was overbalancing the rest of the boxes, and in moments all but the lowest crashed to the ground, spilling their contents across the hallway.

"Ouch," said Kijani, wincing. "Bad luck. I'd help you pick up, but I'll be handling the usual avalanche of course drops and swap requests for the next three hours, so… see you tomorrow!" He disappeared back into his office and shut the door.

Growling with frustration, Qrow dumped the last box, as if wondering how much worse that would make things.

Which was how Taiyang found him, moments later. The sight gave Taiyang pause… for about a second, and then he approached. A delighted grin had blossomed across his face. Qrow knew and dreaded that grin.

"No, Tai, don't you dare…"

"Heya, Qrow…" said Taiyang, his grin intensifying.

"…don't say it, Tai, I swear…"

"…it looks like you need some help with your… _bird droppings_."

Qrow's eyes shut to blot out Tai's insufferable smile. "I hate being me."

* * *

_To be continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to comment.


	5. Head First

Over the course of the week, Qrow settled into the new routine.

He'd start the day being dragged off the couch by Taiyang. He'd choke down some breakfast and possibly coffee if he truly hated himself, then tag along on Taiyang's commute. He'd teach several classes, use whatever free time he had to grade his students' classwork, and assist with a practical by running the range. His favorite instructor to help was the Marksmanship specialist, Professor Staccato, whom he liked to call 'Stacks', much to her annoyance. He'd go home with Taiyang. After dinner, he'd retire to the garage to "study upcoming material". Sometimes he did. He'd conclude the day by crashing on Taiyang's couch to set up the next round of the cycle.

The garage became his unofficial workspace. The schoolwork he took home he kept there. Besides which, the garage didn't count as "the house" for house rules purposes. He took full advantage of that loophole. Several bottles of liquids, some amber, some dark, and some clear, found homes in the garage's nooks and crannies.

It went well until the last day of the first school week, when he rejoined the family for dinner. He could tell something was wrong the moment he entered. Taiyang was finishing up in the kitchen. The girls were sitting at the table, which was set for the meal. Both looked glum.

"Why the long faces?" Qrow said as he shambled towards his seat.

Ruby and Yang gave him reproachful looks.

"What did I do?" Qrow asked.

"It's what you _didn't_ do," corrected Yang.

"We've had all our classes at least once," Ruby said.

"So?" he prompted.

Yang huffed. "So, you're not teaching any of them."

Oh. Right. The girls had been so psyched to have him teaching them, specifically. "I don't control the scheduling," he said truthfully, then added a lie. "Sounds like bad luck."

Ruby slumped in her seat, making a hangdog face. "But I was looking forward to you teaching us," she said in a small voice that hit Qrow right in the feels.

"Well, nothing says I can't keep helping with your spars," Qrow said, desperate to stop her making that face. "I can help you with whatever extra training you do on the weekends."

"Good," said Yang with a scoff. "I've been getting bored with Signal. I've had to beat up my sister just to break a sweat." Ruby gave Yang a resentful glare but didn't contradict her.

"Now, girls," Taiyang called from the kitchen, "you have to take your studies seriously if you want to be Huntresses. This is all important stuff to know before you can go on."

"Sure, dad," said Yang, rolling her eyes where he couldn't see.

He sensed the sarcasm anyway. "Like you, Yang. I know for a fact you blew off studying for your Tracking final last year."

"One class," she said mutinously. "I breezed through _one class_ , and guess what? I still killed it even without studying. That's what I'm saying. This is all too easy. If you want me to work harder, give me harder material."

"That's not how this works, life isn't like your Semblance! Mastery of the basics matters!"

Yang heaved a sigh. "What do you think, Uncle Qrow? You blow off the stuff that doesn't matter, don't you?"

Qrow felt a surge of don't-wanna-be-here. "Listen to your dad," he said evasively.

Yang was unimpressed. "Are you saying there weren't any classes you blew off at Beacon?"

No, Qrow wanted to say, he'd already been planning to leave the tribe, so he tried his best, it was _Raven_ who'd deliberately tanked classes trying to keep a low profile, trying to appear average when she so clearly wasn't…

…but to say so would have begged the question of _why_ she'd wanted to avoid notice. That was a conversation Qrow would rather avoid.

He leaned back, trying to buy time as he put his thoughts in order. "Tell the truth, I didn't know enough to make that call. I was young and cocky, sure. But I didn't know what being a Huntsman was all about. I had to play it safe and take it all seriously. Plus, with me missing Combat School, I was behind in half the curriculum. Had to work twice as hard in those classes to catch up." He grinned and pointed at Taiyang. "Having a team sure came in handy."

Yang smiled her this-will-be-trouble smile. "But you know now, right?"

"Maaaaybe."

"Tell us, then."

"Yang!" shouted Taiyang.

"I'm trying to be efficient," she insisted. "If I know what matters, I'll throw all my effort into those classes."

Qrow heard an echo there. He recalled the objections of the students on his first day. _"How does math help us kill grimm?" "Yeah, aren't we better off using that time learning how to shoot?"_ This was the same sort of thinking.

He'd answered easily, then. Reasons had come to him naturally. Good ones, too.

When the girls looked at him, waiting for his answer, he couldn't remember what he'd said.

Had his words to his students been an act? Had he believed any of it? Had he just said what he'd been expected to say? What was he supposed to say now?

"Maybe…" nope, nope, sidestep it all. "Maybe I don't wanna give the game away. Do you think I'd tell you to blow off a subject I teach? Course not. But if I told you to blow off a course I _don't_ teach, do I really think that, or am I deflecting?"

"It's like a mystery," said Ruby, eyes shining. "We have to track down the truth!"

Yang shot her sister an annoyed look. "No, it's a fancy way to say 'yes' without telling us which classes are the useless ones. Besides, it doesn't matter to you either way, you only study the classes you like."

"Guilty as charged," Ruby said, half-sheepish, half-proud. "And I kick butt in those classes, too!"

"You're both prodigies," said Taiyang, entering the room at last with a plateful of something obscured by steam. "I'm so proud of both of you, you're amazing."

"We love you too, dad," said Yang, with sarcasm and affection both.

Qrow smirked. "What, no one's going to say how proud they are of me? Where's my love?"

"Under the table," said Taiyang—who, Qrow knew without seeing, was raising a middle finger with his hidden hand.

"Now what kind of example are you setting for the kids?" Qrow teased.

"You're saying that to me?" Taiyang said, incredulous. "C'mon, with all the things you've done, how much worse is giving you the bird?"

"Oh, I get it!" said Ruby excitedly. "'Bird'? Because his name's Qrow?"

A tumbleweed blew by.

Qrow arched an eyebrow at Taiyang. "If she doesn't get the joke, I haven't been too bad an influence, huh?"

Taiyang began serving dinner with the resolute doneness of a long-time single father.

So Qrow escaped the evening without getting in too much trouble. He still retired to the garage after dinner, and one of his stored bottles met an early and undeserved end.

* * *

Saturday was a hazy, painful blur. The morning started several hours before Qrow's preference, with Ruby and Yang's morning spar jarring him from his sleep and keeping him from returning. It took hours for his headache to go below seven out of ten. He tried to get ahead with his lesson plans, but it wasn't until after lunch that he was able to focus on it at all, and even then he found it aggravating.

He slouched his way towards the garden, where Taiyang was squatting and splattered with dirt. "Who writes this crap?" he said as an alternative to 'hello'.

Taiyang looked over his shoulder and saw Qrow holding up some of his history study guides. "The author's name's on the front."

"That's… only sorta what I meant," Qrow grumbled. "I mean, whoever it is, they've clearly never been to Mantle. Or, worse, they're from Atlas, and no one bothered to check their work."

Taiyang chuckled. "What grievous sin has someone committed now?"

"This trash about the Atlas Council is all wrong!" Qrow exploded. "They've got it ass-backwards. This says the Council approved the raising of Atlas, and the moving of the capitol there, and then the Council reorganized to take one of Mantle's seats and give it to Atlas, because now Atlas was the more important city and it made sense."

"…but?" Taiyang prompted.

"But if they'd ever talked to anyone from Mantle," Qrow went on, madder than ever, "if they'd ever interviewed one single Mantleborn, they'd know it was the other way around. Mantle was blocking the raising of Atlas, so the Council stripped Mantle of one of its Council seats and gave it to Atlas, and _of course_ that new rep voted for moving the capitol. Mantle's been pissed about it ever since."

Taiyang set a stack of pulled weeds outside the box of the garden's walls. "So, you have a dilemma. Do you teach to the text? Or do you contradict it and confuse your students?"

Qrow frowned. "Can't we get the course material changed?"

"Sure," said Taiyang. "Got a couple of years?"

"A couple of years?" Qrow repeated.

"Textbooks aren't cheap. Revising them takes time, months and months, most of which is spent doing reviews. After the reviews, the new books have to be printed and distributed, and the schools have to buy them, which comes later. The publisher doesn't make any money until the schools buy the books, so they'll usually wait until they get commitments from enough schools, which can take a while."

Taiyang wiped some sweat from his brow. "Go ahead, write a sternly-worded letter to the publisher, just don't expect the new books to be at Signal for a while."

"If there's this big review process, how can a screw-up like that get through?" Qrow fumed.

Taiyang leaned back onto his heels. "How many Atlesians are in your History I classes?"

"Uh…" Qrow scratched his head. "Twelve, across the three sections, I think. Three of them are from Mantle, though."

"They count. So, you submit your revision to the publisher. It's a Valean publisher, but it's responsible, it relies on local authorities. It uses Valean historians for Valean matters, for example—Doctor Oobleck is the big name there. And it uses Atlesian historians to check Atlesian history."

Qrow groaned. "Is this going where I think it's going?"

"Let's say that your revision passes muster with those historians," said Taiyang, pressing his point. "Even if they're forced, through gritted teeth, to admit that it's historically accurate, they're still going to report it through their channels. It'll make its way to the Atlesian publishers, and from them to Atlas Academy, which is the same organization as the Atlesian military. How many Atlesian students do you think we have after all that?"

Qrow took several deep breaths. "But students from every kingdom are allowed to attend every Academy. That was one of the terms of the Vytal Treaty."

"Yup. And Atlas wouldn't dare draft an outright ban on Atlesian students coming to Signal. But they could, say, make it harder for them to get exit visas. They could spread rumors through the high Atlesian social circles about what constitutes a proper education. They could subject commercial and student traffic to Patch to countless little inconveniences and inspections and protocols."

Qrow raised an eyebrow. "Have you been to Atlas? They're all about that shit."

"More, then. You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," said Qrow, his hunch becoming more pronounced. "They can make it such a pain in the ass it's not worth the effort to go to Signal. So, what, Atlas gets veto power on our history curriculum?"

"Not exactly," said Tai, and he reached for one of the feeders in his garden. "There's a certain democracy of errors. The text is vague on how many high muckety-mucks in Mistral held on to their positions after the Great War." He pulled several weeds, but conspicuously left one. He moved towards another feeder. "It loses the thread on who stabbed who the last time Vacuo's government collapsed." He pulled another handful of weeds, again leaving one. "And a lesson on Mountain Glenn was supposed to have been added by now, but it's been in 'fact checking' for years."

He waved out at his garden, where four different feeders each had a single prominent weed remaining, and arched an eyebrow.

"So that's how it is," Qrow grumped.

"Welcome to life as a professional educator," said Taiyang.

"Why does it seem as complicated as fieldwork?"

Taiyang laughed. "And you haven't even gotten to the hard part yet."

"Excuse me?" spluttered Qrow.

"These are teenagers you're dealing with, Qrow," said Taiyang. "They don't have as much baggage as you've got, but they feel the baggage they've got intensely." He grinned. "You have no idea."

"I can hardly wait."

The grin intensified. "You could say they're really…"

"Please don't, Tai."

"… _bird_ -ened."

"Screw you."

* * *

Sunday was better. The girls still woke him at an unholy hour with their sparring, and he unexpectedly got a face full of wet dog nose when he didn't get off the couch fast enough. Things improved after that. He'd done enough self-repair that he'd worked up some aura reserves, which in turn meant he was fit enough to exercise. Once Ruby figured out what he was up to, she watched with rapt attention. That inspired him to show off a little, putting extra flourishes into his routines. It worked great, right until the post Ruby was leaning against snapped without warning. Qrow resolved to do his katas in private from then on.

He was productive in other ways, too: he finished annotating his class materials for the next week, did some long-delayed and much-needed maintenance on Harbinger, and reorganized the garage to his liking, generating a few more hiding spots for bottles in the process.

All in all, a good day.

He knew it wouldn't stay that way.

He had to make the call. He owed it. He'd put it off for too long. All these other, necessary tasks helped delay the reckoning, but he couldn't shirk forever.

Well, he thought as he mulled his flask, why couldn't he? What was forcing him to make the call? Nothing, of course. If it was so important to have this conversation, well, Ozpin could call him.

That wasn't fair to Oz. Oz didn't know what Qrow was up to. He'd given Qrow a few weeks to recuperate, but he was sure to want Qrow back in the field afterwards. Sooner or later, Ozpin would need to know what Qrow had in mind. Might as well be sooner.

That was why, after dinner, Qrow made his disappearance, hinting strongly (and falsely) that he would be studying the bottom of a bottle. Ruby didn't seem to get the allusion; Tai did and silently broadcasted disapproval. Yang went strangely flat. Qrow didn't know what to make of that.

He didn't go to the garage, though. He went further, walking and walking until he was fully into the forest. Then, he changed.

Turning into a bird had its share of downsides, to be sure. It was fodder for endless oh-so-clever jokes from Taiyang. The transformation itched something horrible, every time, which Qrow never got used to. And it came as part of Qrow's introduction to The Mission, and knowing about The Mission had broken Raven and driven Qrow even further into his cups.

It was pretty awesome in other ways, though. It made for some slick getaways.

And there was something relaxing about it. It was an escape. He could rise above the petty concerns that bogged him down as a man. Trudging along the dirt paths of Patch was tedious; soaring over Patch's forest was liberating.

He needed the help.

Qrow's sense of direction was always good, and as a bird it was nigh-unerring. He flew most of the way towards Signal, wanting to get close enough to ensure good signal from the school's relay tower. So much was up in the air with this call that he wanted to control everything he could, and signal strength was something he could control.

He stopped outside the perimeter, outside the range where his semblance could conceivably ruin the evening of someone inside. He found a nice place just past the tree line, where the grass seemed shorter and softer than the rest, and sat.

It was a pleasant night. Cool. Clear. Light pollution from the school and town made a difference, but it was nothing compared to conditions in the Kingdoms. Someone who spent so much time in the wilds regarded the stars and shattered moon as old friends, and there they were, comforting him again tonight. It was nice.

Which made it that much harder to transition to the call.

He forced himself to reach for his scroll. He couldn't delay any more. Oz deserved better. He put in a number and raised the scroll to his ear.

"Headmaster Ozpin."

Qrow huffed in amusement. Ozpin should have known scrolls had caller identification, but he always seemed surprised about who was calling him. Qrow could never tell if the man was that distracted or if some ingrained habit kept him from checking. "Evening, Oz. It's Qrow."

"So it is!"

"Got time for a chat, old man?"

"I do indeed. Although I should need a moment before we begin. I'll call you back shortly."

"No problem," said Qrow. He ended the call, but he wasn't fooled. When Ozpin offered to call back, it meant he was switching lines and didn't want to be obvious about it.

Qrow calling Ozpin went through the normal means of the CCT. Ozpin calling Qrow could do that… or he could use some of the intricate, off-the-books modifications to the CCT that enabled the Headmaster of Beacon to make private, encrypted, unrecorded calls. There were perks to having your office be so close to the CCT. There were more perks to being Ozpin. He could be slow with the user-facing aspects of scrolls and technology, but secrecy, codes, security systems? He grasped them like breathing.

Sure enough, Qrow's scroll lit up mere seconds later. The caller ID was listed as "Unknown". Qrow answered. "Hello?"

"I thought you were expecting me," was the amused greeting he got.

Qrow chuckled. "Good to hear your voice again, Oz."

"Likewise. I do so enjoy hearing from my alumni."

Qrow knew that Ozpin was being sincere. He knew this wasn't a passive-aggressive complaint about the alumni that didn't call him back, including so many members of Qrow's old team. Qrow was embarrassed on their behalf anyway. "Just thought I'd check in. It's been a week."

"Has it already? Goodness, you're right. Start of term is always such a blur."

Qrow knew perfectly well why Ozpin might have a hard time holding on to _when_ he was, but he didn't bring it up. "Anyone interesting in the new first-years?"

"Interesting, sure. No one is radiating potential like Team STRQ did, but there are a few promising students. I'm keeping a particular eye on Team CFVY."

Qrow groaned as an image of the headmaster's mug, as perpetually clutched in his right hand as his cane was in his left, leapt into his mind's eye. "Tell me you didn't arrange that team just so you could use that name."

"Qrow, I'm surprised at you! You know as well as I do that the trajectories of the cliffside launchers are randomized."

There was a long silence as the two men tried to control themselves, followed by eruptions of laughter.

"So," said Qrow as he wiped away tears, "how long have you been holding on to that name?"

"Fifteen years. I used it after STRQ graduated and then let it rest for a while. I have to recycle names eventually, but I try to space them out."

"Makes sense." Qrow saw the opening to change the conversation. _Hey, speaking of schools…_ He almost swerved away from it. That brought a pang of annoyance. No, running from your troubles was a Raven move.

He'd ease into it. Nice and cool. "I'm feeling better," he said. "Think I'm almost recovered from my last mission."

"Good for you. I know I congratulated you on your success earlier, but I hope you don't begrudge me doing it again."

"It's fine," said Qrow casually. Ozpin couldn't see him preening. "No big deal for me."

"Such modesty. I know it was a hard mission, it's why I promised you two weeks to recover."

"Yeah," said Qrow, mouth suddenly dry. "About that."

"Yes?"

"So, the first week is over now, right? That means my cooldown time's up in a week. I… don't think I'll be available a week from now."

Ozpin didn't answer verbally. Qrow heard the headmaster sipping from his mug. He knew to translate that as, "Do go on, but at your own pace, no pressure." It helped.

"See… I've got myself an extra job," said Qrow. "I didn't mean to, it was practically an accident. I'm…" he sighed. Nothing for it. "I'm teaching at Signal, now."

"Good for you, Qrow!" said Ozpin. "I'm happy for you."

Qrow was happy Ozpin couldn't see his jaw drop. "You are?"

"Of course I am! Qrow, I could have chosen almost any vocation. Do you know why I chose to become Headmaster of this Academy?"

"Because it gets you a seat on the Vale Council?"

"There are other ways to get on the Council."

"But no other ways that put you at the site of the CCT Tower," Qrow said keenly, "which you can control and rewire to keep up with your contacts in secret. Like me, right now."

"That's… incidental," said Ozpin unconvincingly.

"Uh… because it lets you recruit special Huntsmen into The Mission right out of school, like you did with STRQ?"

"That's more of a perk than the reason," said Ozpin, discomfited.

"Because it gives you a legitimate reason to be in contact with the other Headmasters in coordinating…"

"That's not it," Ozpin interrupted, ruffled. "Qrow, all of those things are true, and they all played a part. But the reason I became an Academy Headmaster is that _I enjoy teaching_."

Qrow blinked. "Oh."

"I do."

Qrow's mind supplied an image of teenagers hurtling off a cliff. "I bet you do."

"Passing on knowledge from one generation to the next is my entire reason for existing."

"Well, yeah, I guess."

"I find it very rewarding. That's why I don't begrudge you at all your desire to do the same. I'm happy for you. I think you'll find this a valuable and gratifying way to spend… however long you intend to spend there."

"Yeah. Gratifying."

"You are enjoying yourself, right?"

Qrow had been wondering that himself. "It's better than a slap in the face with a wet fish, sure."

"Well, it's encouraging to know you have standards set somewhere, even if that is a distressingly low bar."

"Oz," said Qrow, his worry overcoming him, "is this… okay?"

"I see no reason why it shouldn't be. It's Professor Boq's school to run, and I believe him fully capable of running it. I trust both of you worked out an arrangement you find agreeable. I have no complaints."

"But…" Qrow paused, double-checked his scroll to ensure he was on the encrypted line, "…isn't it taking me away from The Mission?"

"No."

It was a simple answer. It was so simple Qrow couldn't fathom it. "No?"

"No."

"I thought… after the two weeks…"

"I have moved assets around. Your mission profile has changed from active reconnaissance to fort-holding."

Even encrypted lines had vulnerabilities. After almost twenty years of covert operations on Ozpin's behalf, Qrow shared an oblique language with the Headmaster. It helped reinforce the security around The Mission.

Qrow heard Ozpin's words, and immediately translated them. _Amber's in a new location. You're not looking for potential threats from afar; you're on-call to defend her if something happens close to home._

"Wait," said Qrow, "am I in range for that?" _Did you seriously move her to Patch?_

"You have certain mobility advantages." _Birds aren't stuck on islands. She's close enough that you can fly to her._

"There are a lot of links in that fence." _It's still a long flight._

"Fences are unsightly. I've never liked them. Gaudy, ostentatious things." _You know how it is. Bodyguards draw attention to the person being guarded._

"They have their uses, especially if you've got a guard dog who sleeps a lot." _This is dumb. You send me on long-range missions because I can't be trusted to be available at a moment's notice._

"I have faith in dogs that are well-trained." _I think you can._

"Screw you." _Screw you._

Ozpin laughed. "The list of people who would say that to my face is shorter than I deserve. I won't encourage your irreverence, Qrow, but it is refreshing."

"Glad I can be of service," said Qrow with sarcasm so deep no amount of scroll distortion could disguise it.

"Although, if you could refrain from sharing that side of yourself with our allies? The Atlesians in particular find it off-putting."

"That's because of the stick up their collective asses. It's why I prefer missions to Vacuo… wait a minute." Qrow frowned. Something Ozpin had said earlier clicked in his mind. "You knew I was a teacher before I called."

Ozpin's smile was audible. "Professor Boq called me seconds after you left his office."

"Are you serious?" Qrow growled as he cycled through two emotions a second. "I spent all that time trying to figure out when and how to call and tell you, and you knew the whole time?"

"I didn't want to rush you. I wanted you to feel comfortable."

"You blew it."

"Yet here we are."

Qrow sighed. "Careful. I'll start to think you know about everything."

"Of course I don't know about everything. That's why I need people like you."

"Except you can spare me, apparently." The words hurt, more than Qrow expected.

"Qrow, you have been vital to my efforts since the moment I recruited you. Never let there be any doubt in that regard. But you matter as a person, too. That's why I'm willing to adjust things to help you. It was time for a change anyway—moving targets, and all that."

Qrow grimaced. "You know teaching wasn't my idea? I didn't even want the job. I was hoping Professor Boq would kick me out."

"Yes, well, we're fortunate he has better judgement than that."

"Hey… how much does he know?" _Does he know about The Mission?_

"Not everything. He may be qualified to be an Academy Headmaster, but he isn't one." _No. He's not part of inner circle._ "Not yet, anyway."

"You been giving him pointers, at least? Maybe you can teach him how to handle me." _Does he trust you? Does he know I work for you?_

"No one can handle you, Qrow, but I've told him you're a special case, and he understands." _Yes and yes._

"And he hired me anyway," Qrow said. "Good to know."

"Yes, it's important to try and understand others."

Qrow's inner translator hiccupped. Maybe there was no subtext to that one. "Is it?"

"That's what I believe. It's another reason I'm happy you are where you are. Give my best to Mr. Xiao Long, will you?"

"…sure," Qrow said. What was the worst that could happen?

Unbidden thoughts came to him of the few times Taiyang had been genuinely upset, and the amount of property damage that had followed. _That_ was the worst that could happen.

Riiiiiiight.

Okay, so maybe he'd not tell Taiyang and say he did.

"I'll talk to you later, old man," said Qrow.

"You as well."

The call ended. Qrow stared at his scroll for a moment, as if waiting for some treachery to unfold. Eventually its screen dimmed from inactivity, and Qrow, sighing, folded it up.

All things considered, it had gone better than Qrow had any right to expect. Ozpin not only supporting Qrow, but rearranging things—literally safety-of-the-world level things—to accommodate him? That was…

…that was…

…kind of gross, actually.

Ozpin had shuffled around other people's assignments so that Qrow could play at a job he didn't want. He was changing aspects of The Mission because Qrow couldn't stand up to two teenage girls.

Oh, sure, Ozpin had said things were due for a change. Qrow would admit that Ozpin did frequently alter the security parameters of The Mission, without warning and never on a schedule. He just couldn't shake the feeling, deep in his bones, that he was making things worse by existing.

He was Qrow Branwen, after all. That was his schtick.

He stood. Something itched at the back of his neck. He brushed at it, and—

-screamed.

* * *

Taiyang was headed for the stairs when there was a thud at the door. It flew open a moment later.

Qrow stalked in, shirtless. Said shirt (and cape) was in one hand, a luridly pink plastic bottle in the other. "Say one word about house rules," Qrow growled, "and I chop down your whole garden."

Taiyang nodded agreeably. "What are we bringing in?"

Qrow shoved the bottle into Taiyang's hands. The label read "Dalayours Itch Reliever". Qrow walked past Taiyang, dropped onto the couch, and turned his back to Taiyang.

Qrow's back was covered in angry red mounds.

Taiyang winced and took the hint. He uncapped the bottle. "What happened?"

"Nothing!" Qrow barked. "I just sat down and made a scroll call! Apparently I can't even make a scroll call without some catastrophe hitting!"

Taiyang squirted a generous amount of the liquid into his hand. "Did you sit down on an ant hive?"

"What does it look like?!"

Taiyang shook his head with a wry smile on his face. "Must have been some scroll call."

"It… well, it was dark. I couldn't see…" Qrow's words turned into a relieved hiss when Taiyang's hand reached his back. Taiyang knew how the cold and itch-relief of the liquid could be a shock to the system. He started spreading it out. Almost Qrow's whole back, it seemed, had gotten chewed up.

"By the time I knew they were there, they were all over my shirt, and then they were inside my shirt, and…" Qrow shook his head and huffed as Taiyang hit him with more of the medicine. "I hate ants."

"Which is why your semblance keeps finding them."

"Don't remind me."

Taiyang applied another dose. "Anywhere else?"

"No, that's it." Qrow sighed, his fury seeming to have burnt out. "Seriously, can't even get on the scroll without something stupid happening…"

Taiyang shrugged. "Yeah, the ants on Patch don't build mounds like they do in other places. There's a lot less warning that you're on their turf."

Qrow sniffed indignantly. "That's not right."

"Yeah," Taiyang agreed, seeming sincere. "It's really inconveni- _ant_."

"…Tai?"

"Yeah?"

"Go to Hell."

* * *

_Don't forget to comment!_

_Next time: A Bad Day_


	6. A Bad Day

In retrospect, Qrow was amazed he lasted as long as he did.

* * *

His headache was nine out of ten and pounding at every corner of his skull. The sun was entirely too bright; it pierced his eyelids, even shut. Every part of him was weary. His digestive system was in full revolt. He didn't know how he'd ended up here- couldn't think past the haze and the pain and the need to sleep and the-

B-B-B-B-BRAT

Qrow recoiled, falling to the back of the booth. His eyes tried to open, but the damnably bright sun was like a brand to the eyeballs. He heard himself cry out.

Qrow's fight-or-flight reflexes fully engaged. His heart hammered in his chest while his breaths came rapid and light. Harbinger was in his hand, shotgun barrels pointed, sweeping the booth for enemies. His aura thrummed almost to visibility to ward off the attack he _knew_ was coming.

Past and present collided, re-lived terror intruded on his senses, there... no, where were they, where would they attack-

BRAT-BRAT. BRAT. …BRAT.

Still hyperventilating. Gunshots. Those were gunshots, he knew that sound. No impact points in the shed, no sound of bullets tearing into…

"You okay in there?"

…huh?

The voice was distant. The gunfire had stopped. Why had the gunfire stopped? Were they waiting to see if they'd got him with the first—but no, they hadn't even hit the—

…what?

Blink, blink.

Oh. No one had been shooting at him.

He wasn't about to die.

That was a relief. He forced Harbinger down.

He heard footsteps approaching. He mightily resisted the urge to point Harbinger in that direction. A face popped in through the shack's open window.

An instructor's face.

Qrow jerked, but didn't move. The hand holding Harbinger flopped, but he managed not to aim it at his colleague. It was Professor Staccato, Qrow realized distantly. Good ol' Stacks. She spoke again. "You alright? …Hey, talk to me."

No, he wasn't alright. He was never alright. Terms like that were for real people, normal people.

"I'm alright," Qrow lied, rubbing his face with his hand. It reduced the light, at least.

"Do I need to get you back up to the school?"

"Nope," said Qrow briskly, trying to use tone and inflection to overcome all visual evidence to the contrary. "I'm good. Just fine."

"You're sure you can run the range?"

Oh, right. That's what he'd been up to. Of _course_ there had been gunshots. He was at a shooting range. He'd been freaked out by something normal.

In his defense, he was hungover to the point of insensibility.

That… was less of a defense than he'd hoped.

Qrow had to use Harbinger to lever himself off the floor. He staggered to the controls. That was it. This was right. There was the target plan, there were the controls. He could run a range. Right.

"Yeah, no sweat," said Qrow. "Sorry. Guess I… uh…" He scratched his chin as he tried to think of an excuse. When nothing came, he cringed and said, "Let's just get on with it, okay?"

Stacks sighed. "Alright. If you mess it up again, I'm sending you back to the schoolhouse. It's not fair to the students."

"The students," Qrow repeated blearily. "Right. Gotta take care of the kids."

"Are you sure you're…"

"I'm not gonna change my answer if you keep asking," Qrow snapped. "You wanna get out there so we can keep on?"

The look Stacks gave him was richly offended. She turned and left without another word. If Qrow was being honest with himself, he deserved that. But he was tired, injured, and hungover, with a backwash of terror flooding his mind. Honesty with himself, and understanding for his peers, were not on the menu.

Laboriously, he brought up the next target set. Everything was hard through the haze of his headache and fatigue and pain and stress. The shooting started. Each volley was like nailguns firing into his skull.

* * *

Mel Cyan burned. As his classmates chattered, he listened with growing frustration.

"Is Professor Branwen okay?"

"I hope he is, I love his lessons."

"I know, I do too! He knows so much!"

"Where is he?"

"I hope nothing happened to him!"

Words escaped Mel's mouth. "If anything did, I'm sure it was his own fault."

That earned him a few sharp looks. Mel didn't flinch. He crossed his arms. "It's what I've been trying to tell you," he said sullenly.

"Shut up, Shed," snarled one of the girls who, Mel remembered, thought Professor Branwen's eyes were _so dreamy_ (puke, puke).

"My name's not 'Shed'," Mel said, even as he knew he'd never win the point.

"Suuuuure," sneered another classmate, "but as much fuss as you make about that shed you say the professor destroyed, it might as well be!"

"Can we just agree that nothing Shed says about Professor Branwen counts?"

"Agreed!" chorused four voices.

Mel hated everyone. "Well, where is he, then?"

"I'm sure it's something…"

Professor Branwen opened the door, six minutes late, looking like he'd drop dead on the spot.

"…legit."

"Seats," Branwen said with a vague wave at the class. He didn't seem to see nor care that the class was already seated. He shambled towards his desk, hunched so far forward it was like he was trying to fold himself in half.

"What's wrong, Professor?" gasped one of the students.

 _He's hungover,_ thought Mel in disgust. _Which is when things start exploding._

"Nothing's wrong, I just…" He paused, as if trying to come up with words to explain what he was. After several seconds, he shrugged. "We all have bad days."

Mel scowled harder than ever.

Branwen maneuvered himself to his chair and slumped backwards in it until he was nearly horizontal. He dragged one of his hands over his face. "Where did we leave off?"

"Page 63," several students said, while others shouted out the topic instead.

Branwen's face scrunched up. "This is math, isn't it? Ugh."

There was a murmur of worry; Mel rolled his eyes. One of the students said, "Professor, is… that a problem?"

"Is something wrong with this being math?"

"Or do you just not wanna teach it?" blurted out Mel.

Several students hissed at him. Branwen peeked out at Mel from beneath his hand. "Sounds like I got a volunteer," he said. "You. Come up here."

Mel had half a mind to refuse. He wondered if Branwen would notice or insist if he did. He held off as long as he could. When Branwen gave him another peek, Mel acquiesced.

Branwen reached for the box on his desk. From his slumped position, he couldn't quite reach inside it. After three attempts, he sighed, and tapped one side of it. "Over here," he said to Mel. "Grab the papers on this side."

Mel complied. "What are they?"

"Worksheets. Hand 'em out." He raised his voice. "Worksheets are coming 'round now. Due at the end of class. Give 'em back when you're done. Mister…" with an effort that seemed to pain him, he looked at Mel. "…Cyan will make sure we got everyone's. If you get done early, read the next section, and we'll continue next class."

Mel took the papers up and, as he was handing the first one to the first student in class, he looked at the content of the worksheets… and stopped cold. "Sir?" he said, turning to look back at Branwen.

"What?" was the irritable reply.

"This is old material," said Mel, holding one up. "We covered this ages ago."

Branwen made a grouchy noise. "It's review," he said. "Go on. Do what I say."

 _It's busywork,_ Mel thought bitterly as he made the rounds with the worksheets. _Of course. I was wondering how long he'd last before he screwed up, just like mom said he used to…_

Mel made himself a bet as to how long before Branwen passed out.

He heard the first snore before he got to the second question. Branwen had beaten the bet.

* * *

Gilden Boq was used to assigning punishments. It went with the title of Headmaster. Even before that, as a teacher, he'd dealt with his share of disruptive students that needed correction. During his time protecting convoys on the treacherous Vale-Vacuo routes, Boq had routinely been called upon to keep the convoyers in-line. That was a particularly dangerous task. People didn't like being punished, and the negative emotions that resulted were beacons for the grimm haunting that forsaken wasteland.

After so long, he'd developed preferences. He liked dealing with those who didn't think they'd done anything wrong. If Boq could make them see their error, great! They got a mini-redemption arc and Boq could feel like he'd done some good. If they held on to the idea that they weren't wrong, at least Boq got to feel righteous about the whole thing.

It was worst when the person to be disciplined was actively disciplining themselves. What was Boq supposed to do, pile on?

Qrow Branwen was sitting in Boq's office with his face in his palms and his hands on his knees, shaking periodically, and carrying the air of a man who wants to sink into a hole and never be seen again.

"I see you know why you're here," Boq said.

The head moved without the eyes ever becoming visible. It was, Boq supposed, a sort of a nod.

"This was not a good day for you, Professor Branwen."

The head shook side-to-side.

Boq pursed his lips in frustration. Qrow's attitude was not conducive to conversations. "Perhaps you could explain to me what you think went wrong today."

"I screwed up," came the choked voice.

"We know that," Boq said, trying to keep it from being a condemnation. Qrow's reaction suggested that Boq had failed. "We're here to determine how and why, so we can figure out how to keep it from happening again."

Qrow finally looked up. His eyes were bloodshot and despairing. "Are you serious?"

Boq squirmed under the gaze of those eyes.

"I'm not one of your students. I'm a grown-ass man. If I'm still on my bullshit now, what makes you think _you_ can fix me?"

"I'd never be so arrogant as to think I could fix you," said Boq. "Just… keep you functional?"

Qrow scoffed. "No offense, Professor, but if Oz can't… if Sum… Summer couldn't…"

The sober drunkard stiffened. His hand flew for his chest. Patted it. Came away empty. Qrow swore bitterly and returned his face to his hands.

Boq made a mental note to find out who "Summer" was.

It was a distraction, though, a far smaller concern than one of his teachers—a man he trusted with children—seeming to come apart in front of him. "Does this happen often?"

Qrow almost laughed. "Which part?"

"How often do you have a day where you're… non-functional?" Boq tried.

"You say that like there's… like there's a rhyme or reason to it."

"Explain," said Boq.

"That's my point. I can't." Qrow's too-slender form shook. "I'm usually careful enough to get good and plastered on the regular."

Boq's eyebrows rose. "That's 'careful'?"

"Better I get drunk on purpose than get drunk on accident," Qrow murmured. "But it's not like… not like I can just make it all… go away. Even when I get drunk."

"I understand," Boq said sympathetically.

"No you don't," said Qrow with a sad laugh.

"Then explain."

"That's my point," said Qrow, with a bit of heat in his voice this time. "You keep talking like there's a reason for me getting drunk. That's not how it works. I drink partly because I had a shitty upbringing where that was just part of life, and I've carried bad habits ever since. And partly it's because I'm chemically inclined, and alcohol is the most addictive substance on Remnant, and that's a bad combo. Partly I'm an idiot who enjoys the buzz too much even when I know the cost. And partly I've been through so much shit in my life that dulling the pain with booze is a defensible way to cope. I have a lot to cope with, okay? And it's not like I can predict when I'll be reminded of something, or when I'll see…"

He cut himself off, swallowed hard, and seemed to shrink. He patted his chest again. Feeling nothing, he tipped his head up. "Dammit."

"Have you ever gone to a therapist for any of this?" Boq asked.

"Tried, a few times. I broke them."

"We'll try again." Boq reached to a large, wall-mounted shelving array that held many of his more commonly-used forms.

"If you think some shrink can get me to stop drinking…" Qrow said, half amused, half growling.

"Of course not," said Boq, plucking a referral form and placing it on his desk. "There's entirely too much there to unpack."

Qrow frowned. "Then what…"

"Grief counseling," said Boq, drawing a pen. "I said earlier, I don't think I can fix you. I think the best we can hope for is to keep you away from extremes. You said you use booze as a coping mechanism. Maybe we can address that part, at least."

Qrow huffed. "Useless."

"We're Huntsmen, Professor Branwen," said Boq, trying to inject his own faith into the words. "We're men of action. We're healthier and more useful when we're taking positive action. Wallowing does not suit us."

"You get used to it," Qrow said with a shrug.

Boq didn't honor that response. "This is positive action. If this does anything to help you hold together, it's worth the effort."

"Who're you trying to convince?" said Qrow keenly. "Me? Or yourself?"

"False dichotomy," said Boq.

"You could have said 'both'."

"Maybe, but we have our own styles." He turned the paper around, placed the pen upon it, and extended both across his desk. "You'll need to fill this out."

Qrow made no motion. He just looked up at Boq—well, _down_ at Boq—with a blank expression.

"I believe in second chances, Qrow. Third chances, even. But we must deserve it. I always have the option to give fewer chances." He cocked his head. "You said you'd heard of me. Did you hear of my semblance?"

Qrow shook his head. "It's not right to gossip about that sorta thing. You're really gonna share something so personal with a wreck like me?"

"It's mine to share," Boq said gruffly. "Besides, you've talked about yourself, so it's only fair." He took a breath. "My semblance is the Rule of Threes. Every third hit I make on the same target is amplified. Look at me, Qrow. I'm not terribly strong. I'm not terribly damaging… right up until I am. I try to run this school the same way. I try to show restraint and wield my power lightly, until or unless my hand is forced.

"So don't force me, and we can move past this. Take this form and attend the counseling, and I'll make no official record of this incident. That'll be that."

"Except not really," said Qrow.

"I'll remember it," Boq allowed.

That got a sigh from Qrow. "And the next time I mess up?"

"If you mess up again…"

"'When'," Qrow insisted.

" _If_ you mess up again, we'll escalate. You'll write out apologies to the students or staff your actions affect."

That got a reaction. Qrow drew back in distaste. "I'd as soon let them shoot me."

"Well, that's an idea for your third screw-up," Boq said drily.

Qrow blinked. "Really?"

" _Of course_ not really," said Boq. Maybe, he thought belatedly, threats did not make good jokes for one as used to threats as Qrow Branwen. "On your third offense I'll fire you."

"…oh."

"I hope it doesn't come to that," Boq added. "I'd hate to lose you from this faculty."

Qrow shot Boq a look of frank disbelief.

"So," Boq said, unsettled, "in the near-term, fill out the counselling referral and submit it. I'll reach out to the counsellors, so I'll know if you blow me off."

"Right," said Qrow with a bit of resentment. That was more engaged than Boq had seen thus far, so he let it go.

"And one more thing," said Boq, stepping up from his chair to his desk. Qrow got the hint and rose.

"Yeah?"

"I interview everyone at the semester break," said Boq. "When that happens, I want you to be able to tell me why Mr. Cyan's peers all refer to him as 'Shed'."

Qrow's face couldn't pale any more than its base state, but not for lack of trying. "Yeah. Uh… sure."

"Very well." Boq sighed. "Go get some sleep, Qrow."

A wry smile picked at the corner of Qrow's mouth. "You say that like it'll help."

He left without letting Boq reply.

* * *

"I don't get why you'd just leave Uncle Qrow at school," protested Yang.

"Come on, it's Uncle Qrow. He can take care of himself." Despite the brave words, Ruby's face was worried. It forced Taiyang to respond.

"I already said, Qrow had some things to take care of at school, and I couldn't wait forever if it meant delaying dinner." He served himself another helping as if to emphasize the point. "And Ruby's right, he can make his own way home."

"After all," Ruby said loyally, "he may not have a motorcycle, but he takes missions all over the place, and he never has any trouble getting where he needs to go."

"Yeah, I think that's the only gap in his 'cool uncle' resume," Yang said, and though she was speaking to Ruby her eyes were firmly on Taiyang. "If he had a motorcycle or some other ride just as dangerous, he'd have the whole package."

Taiyang knew this game as surely as he knew the teasing expression on Yang's face. "Well, good thing he doesn't have a motorcycle. I'd be totally outclassed."

"Ai shtill shay…"

"Not with food in your mouth," Taiyang said in warning.

Ruby dutifully swallowed and tried again. "I still say he doesn't need it. He's the coolest either way."

"Whatever," said Taiyang. He was (mostly) immune to the little pricks at his pride this sort of conversation always inflicted. "If you're done, go ahead and clear your places. We need to catch up on dishes."

"Yes, dad," they droned together, and they stood with a scraping sound from their chairs.

Taiyang tilted the pan towards him. "Good grief, girls, you are going to eat me out of house and home."

Yang smirked. "It's your fault for teaching your little girls to be Huntresses."

"If you wanted girls with small appetites, you would have taught us skills other than fighting," Ruby agreed.

"Like knitting."

"Or hair dressing."

"Or…"

"…or we live in a dark and dangerous world, and you need to know how to defend yourselves," Taiyang argued without needing to think; this conversation took a well-worn path. "And you wanted to learn before I even started your training."

"Why could that be, Rubes?" Yang asked rhetorically as she started work on the dishes.

"Could it be…" said Ruby, frowning in mock-concentration, "…that literally our entire family is Huntsmen and Huntresses?"

"And we live on an island where training Huntsman and Huntresses is, like, the entire local economy?"

"Other than fish."

"Doesn't count."

Taiyang sighed.

"I'm just saying," Yang said, "if you didn't want us to be Huntresses, you kinda set yourself up for failure."

"I never said that," said Taiyang tiredly. "I'm proud of your ambitions, both of you." _And deeply terrified._ "It's just an expensive pipeline, that's all."

Ruby cocked her head curiously. "But… there are all sorts of scholarships, I heard about them. And financial aid, and…"

"Those are for the people who really need them," Taiyang said firmly as he took the pan into the kitchen. There was maybe half a serving's worth of leftovers, but that was still worth saving. "There are families worse off than ours that need those scholarships, and orphans with no families at all. Save the scholarship money for them."

"Sorry," said Ruby, and she did look abashed.

Yang grinned. "In that case, you don't get to complain about how much we eat."

"You know," said Taiyang, waving a spatula at them threateningly, "I can change your enrollment to the boarding option. How does sleeping in the dorm every night sound?"

This threat did not have the intended effect. "Oh! You mean like practicing for when we're in Beacon!" Ruby said, clapping her (wet) hands together.

"Pfft, don't get worked up about it," said Yang, squirting more soap onto her sponge. "He's bluffing so hard. You think he wants to get rid of us already? Leave him with just Zwei for company?"

"Hey, Zwei is great company, I'll have you know," Taiyang said as the leftovers went into the refrigerator.

"He is a cutie pie," Ruby allowed, "but he's not much for conversation."

"Yeah, he's not much _pun_ to talk to," Yang said with a twinkle in her eye.

"Two out of ten," said Taiyang.

She nodded, undeterred. "I'll work on it."

"I didn't get him for the conversation, either," said Taiyang. "Dogs are good company, but they have other uses, too."

Yang shook her head. "Dad, if that's what you had in mind when you got Zwei, why a corgi?"

"A _war_ corgi," Taiyang corrected. "He's a war corgi."

Ruby didn't roll her eyes, but it was a near thing. "Whatever you say, dad."

Taiyang knew he couldn't expect better than that. He finished putting away dinner supplies just as the girls finished drying the dishes. "So," he said, "you girls headed upstairs, or were you wanting to catch the news with me?"

They shared a glance. "We love you, dad," said Ruby.

He knew what that meant. "I love you, too," he said, and watched as they turned to go.

"I get first player!"

"No you don't, I—"

Whoosh!

"Hey! No semblances in the house!"

Taiyang chuckled. That house rule, he was pretty sure, was Summer's idea of a joke at Qrow's expense. Either way, it had stuck. Not that Ruby observed it any more than STRQ had.

Stretching out in the aftermath of dinner, Taiyang slowly made his way to the obscura. He was a little early, so he had to sit through the end of the preceding game show and some typically vapid commercials. He was well into cognitive shutdown when the news program began.

He paid little attention to it. Oh, he vaguely kept an eye on things, but only for minor goings-on. He had the Huntsman grapevine for the things that mattered.

What the news gave him was routine. Comfort. Obnoxious as some of the news items were, they came in a reassuring rhythm. Segments about petty local criminals, the misdeeds of minor politicians, the opening of new restaurants, the grimm sightings of excitable travelers who were sure they'd seen a Primal, something "human interest" (was "faunus interest" a journalism phrase? Was there a generic equivalent?)…

The specifics changed but the form didn't. They lapped at his consciousness like waves at the seashore, leaving transient impressions in a soothing cadence as old as the planet. It was part of his bedtime routine. It helped.

He wanted to laugh at himself. For Ruby and Yang, the night was hours from over and full of promise. He, though, was wrapping things up. He was getting old, wasn't he? Maybe he should stock up on prune juice to complete the image.

If he didn't, Yang would beat him to it as a gag. He'd raised her well.

In that case, let her have it. He'd see how long it took her to come to it. He could take "you're old" jokes. He sure took them better than Qrow—but Qrow was in denial, of course.

Where was Qrow, anyway?

Taiyang frowned. Well, this was a fly in the ointment. It'd be harder to get to sleep if he was wondering after Qrow.

Whatever. Qrow was a big boy, he could take care of himself, especially here on Patch. Qrow certainly never checked in on any regular basis when he was off playing crusader, why would it be different now that he was faculty?

Except Taiyang could picture, all too easily, Qrow being upset about his performance on the day, and going to drown his sorrows, and getting so deep into the bottle that he wouldn't be able to crawl out again in time to be collected for the next day, with him blowing it as a professor tomorrow too, depressing him, sinking him ever deeper into that spiral…

Taiyang blinked. Wow. He could see it so easily it was like it had already happened. Maybe because it _had_ happened in the past, under different circumstances.

Huntsmen are bad at letting others suffer.

He drew his scroll. Held it in his hand. Hesitated. Qrow hated being babysat. When he wanted to be alone, he despised company, even well-intentioned company. He'd driven that point home to Taiyang over half a lifetime.

Did Taiyang dare…?

Zwei trotted towards the door and barked. Moments later the door opened, revealing a stooped figure.

Taiyang smoothly pocketed his scroll and his worries as he stood. "Welcome back."

"Thanks for waiting up for me," grumped Qrow with predictable but still biting sarcasm.

"Do you see what time it is?" Taiyang said. "I had to get home sooner or later to get the kids situated."

Over their heads came some insistent thumping sounds.

"Situated, huh?" said Qrow.

"We've got some leftovers from dinner," said Taiyang, not rising to the gibe. "Want any?"

"Nah, I ate while I was making my way back," said Qrow, waving a hand and walking for the couch.

"That's good," said Taiyang.

"What, scared I couldn't take care of myself?" said Qrow, bristling.

"I know you can," said Taiyang, and left it at that.

Qrow looked at him for several long seconds. "Idiot," he said without elaborating, and flopped onto the couch. Zwei, after two attempts, got onto the couch and crawled into Qrow's lap. Qrow pet him absently.

"You need a hand to be ready for tomorrow?" Taiyang asked.

"No," scoffed Qrow. "Why would I?"

Taiyang opened his mouth, closed it. So that's how it was going to be. "Just checking if there was anything you needed," said Taiyang, since offering to help implied that Qrow couldn't hack it or was weak or some other blasted thing. Qrow's brain was a minefield.

"Well, there's not," said Qrow, but with less force this time. Petting Zwei was clearly having its effect.

"Good," said Taiyang, and he thought he did a pretty good job burying his disbelief. There was one thing he could do for Qrow, whether Qrow would admit he needed it or not. "You know, there aren't many Huntsmen of your caliber around here, even among the faculty. I train all the time, of course, but most of it's fundamentals. I don't have anyone to push me to my peak. I was wondering if you'd be willing to spar with me a few times a week."

Qrow raised his face. Those eyes missed little, as human or bird. Camouflage rarely fooled him. "Lemme guess," said Qrow, and Taiyang couldn't tell if it was alcohol or cynicism slurring his voice. "You want to do it in the mornings, as a wake-up call of sorts. And if I commit to that, then I'm also committing to getting myself in bed the night before, because I know you can push my teeth in if I'm sloppy. So, you're trying to take care of me, without making me feel like I'm being taken care of."

"I'm trying to give you a reason to take care of yourself," said Taiyang. "Just like the girls did."

Qrow reversed his slouch and draped his head over the back of the couch. Zwei, sensing a lost cause, dropped from the couch with a thunk. "Yeah, and we see how well that's working."

"I do," said Taiyang earnestly. "Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately, Qrow? When you came staggering in here coming off your last mission, it was 'night of the walking dead' the way you looked. Now look at you!"

Qrow rolled his eyes. "Really?"

Taiyang crossed his arms. "I'm not moving until you do."

That brought Qrow's hand to his face. "I thought you usually played Good Cop."

"Qrow, with you and Raven around, anyone else is the Good Cop by default. I'm not sure if you've figured this out yet or not, but the best teachers have to be Good Cop and Bad Cop all by themselves."

"I'm getting that idea." He huffed. "Fine." He looked to the side at the hall mirror. "So? What am I seeing?"

"You tell me."

Qrow rolled his eyes. "Myself."

Taiyang had not survived Team STRQ by being easily off-put. "Can you be more descriptive?"

"I see a Huntsman, forty years old, and aging like a fine wine."

Taiyang kept his grin internal. "Go on."

"Well," said Qrow, turning his face side to side, "I also see devastating good looks and unimpeachable fashion sense."

"And?" Taiyang prompted.

Qrow was getting suspicious now. He tossed Taiyang a glance. "And the top Huntsman in his year," he said, untruthfully.

Taiyang recognized the trap but played along. "Well, the top in this room, anyway. And you look like you're in shape, ready to bring all those powers to bear."

That earned him a bird-like head-cock. "Suuuure?"

Taiyang crossed his arms. "Do you imagine that's what you looked like when you staggered in here before the school year started?"

That just made Qrow surly. "You're trying to say I'm taking care of myself now?"

"More than you usually do."

Qrow snorted rather than argue the point. It would have been a losing argument anyway.

"It's because of the girls, isn't it?"

Qrow's face twitched. He looked away from Taiyang. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Taiyang sighed. "I've got a pretty high tolerance for your bullshit, Qrow, but even I have my limits. I'm going to bed."

"Well, good. I didn't wanna talk to you anyway."

 _Never leave an argument over night._ Taiyang's first principle of relationships. "You don't mean that, right?"

It took Qrow a long time to answer. "I… just meant tonight. Not… you know… in general."

Taiyang relaxed. "Good to know. I love you, too."

"Don't make it weird, meathead."

"Wouldn't dream of it, birdbrain."

Taiyang went upstairs and was asleep in minutes. He dreamed of prune juice.

* * *

_Next time: A Complicated Man_


End file.
